In The Forest Of Dean

Translations:

Russian Version (Ficbook.net - courtesy of JulsDo and Daniel Alexandrovich)

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This fic involves mature content, explicit language, dark themes, dark magic, difficult topics, violence, torture, blood, descriptions of injuries and the long-term consequences, mercy killings, heroic sacrificial tendencies, LGBTQ and coming out anxiety, major character deaths, and all the other difficult things that come with a story about war. Everyone has different tolerances, so while I like to think that the darker aspects of this story are not gratuitous or overdone—and that this story has plenty of happy, cathartic, and humourous moments—I do not want to accidentally trigger anyone without sufficient warning.

So please consider this as your warning. This fic has a level of gritty war brutality that some may not be comfortable with. I've done my best to include chapter specific warnings and summaries for chapters containing the more difficult content, but I've yet to complete this task, so just be mindful of that as you read. Please note this fic does not involve bashing, instead it takes a realistic look at the war, the consequences of actions, the price of power, and grey morality of people faced with difficult situations.

It is intended to be written for adults with an R rating, as per the assigned fic rating.

Please be kind to everyone on this platform and remember that there are an infinite number of ways to tell a story. Hateful, rude, and inappropriate comments will be deleted. Note that I typically disable comments on stories one year after they are completed.

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September 15, 1997

‘So why are you still here?’ Harry asked Ron.

‘Search me,’ said Ron.

‘Go home then,’ said Harry.

‘Yeah, maybe I will!’ shouted Ron, and he took several steps towards Harry, who did not back away.

Hermione tensed as the scene started to unfold in front of her. 

What was happening? For being ‘the brightest witch of her age’, it was as if her brain suddenly short-circuited and stopped functioning. After everything they had been through, the fights they had endured previously – Ron and Harry’s pissing fit in fourth year – she could feel the tension. She could visibly see the flames enlarging towards an inevitable explosion. The building pressure was familiar, like their fights before – but she knew, this time, it was different.

They were arguing about whether or not Harry cared about Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys. Or was it that Ron was upset that the mission thus far had been long? Exhausting? Difficult? Utterly defeating? It was ludicrous. They were arguing about everything and nothing at the same time – but none of it was tangible.

Hermione tried to step in to calm things down, to bring Ron to the rational conclusion that Harry didn’t mean what Ron seemed to think he did. But Ron seemed determined to mimic the ever-growing storm outside as his face grew redder with rage. Ron exploded again – lashing out at her too this time, her and the fact that her’ parents were safely out of the way’. As if the fact that she had confunded and obliviated her parents that past summer made things easier on her or made the ongoing situation less intense. As if he thought that it somehow excused her from feeling the same worry and anguish that he was clearly feeling, because she now had less to lose in the war. Her chest tightened, and her jaw clenched as she felt the prickle of tears at the corner of her eyes. She didn’t know how to respond. But it didn’t matter because Harry was already screaming back, raising the octave of the tent another level only for Ron to immediately yell once more in retort.

‘Then GO!’ roared Harry. ‘Go back to them, pretend you’ve got your spattergroit, and Mummy’ll be able to feed you up and–‘

Ron made a sudden movement: Harry reacted, but before either wand was clear of its owner’s pocket, Hermione had raised her own.

‘Protego!’ she cried, and an invisible shield expanded between her and Harry on the one side and Ron on the other, all of them were forced backwards a few steps by the strength of the spell, and Harry and Ron glared from either side of the transparent barrier as though they were seeing each other clearly for the first time.

It was suddenly quiet, despite the noisy raindrops which hit the tent heavily. It felt as though the tent had frozen; time stood still. Hermione could taste the acid in the air, see the hatred in Ron’s eyes and the raging anger in Harry’s. The familiar building tension had finally snapped, but it snapped in an unfamiliar way as Hermione had dreaded. Lingering under the raw and turbulent emotions was something new, something different – something broken. Like a thousand shards of glass on the floor, this felt irreparable. 

She heard Harry speak, but this time his voice was calm, cold, and flat.

‘Leave the Horcrux,’ Harry said.

Ron wrenched the chain from over his head and cast the locket into a nearby chair. He turned to Hermione.

Hermione’s eyes opened a fraction wider, and it was at that moment she realized that silent tears had been streaming down her cheeks. She was crying, crying because subconsciously, she knew what they had just lost even if her mind was still racing and trying to figure out what to say – how to repair the situation. Crying because she knew what Ron was about to ask her, and she already knew her response. Then Ron spoke, and she dreaded the words.

‘What are you doing?’

She stared at him, her eyes wide as tears rolled down her face, and the words slipped through her lips quietly. She didn’t want to do this.

‘What do you mean?’

Ron’s face twisted in frustration. He knew that Hermione knew what he meant. Angrily he clarified for her, a hint of desperation in his eyes.

‘Are you staying, or what?’

‘I…’

Hermione looked anguished. A loud roll of thunder outside of the tent sent a shiver down her spine. It felt like she was burning from the inside out. Her stomach was twisting, the feeling of sickness at the back of her throat. She took a breath, blinking her eyes once before she responded in the calmest voice she could manage.

‘Yes – yes, I’m staying. Ron, we said we’d go with Harry, we said we’d help–‘

Ron didn’t wait, though. He didn’t wait for her to explain her reasons. He didn’t want to hear them. He didn’t want her to remind him that the two of them, together, had promised to follow Harry and support him on his mission to hunt and destroy Horcruxes. The mission that Albus Dumbledore had assigned them. All of them. The mission that literally the entire wizarding world was depending on them completing – even though no one knew about it. He never listened. He never thought.

Why did she ever believe that this would be different?

‘I get it. You choose him.’

His face was ugly. Angry. Filled with a betrayal that was unjustified and selfish. She saw the turn of his shoulders as he started to pull away, as he started toward the door of the tent. She tensed and raised a hand as if to grab and stop him. 

They had to fix this!  

A wave of nausea and desperation flew over her, but she was impeded by her own shield charm. Waving her wand to remove it, she hurried after him through the tent door and into the rainstorm leaving Harry standing motionless inside. She screamed his name, calling him to come back.

‘Ron, no – please – come back, come back!’

Running farther from the tent, she caught the faintest sound of an apparition pop and her hand, which had still been slightly outstretched, fell to her side. She stopped. Her knees quivered as her lip trembled and the rain soaked through her hair. 

This was different.

Turning solemnly on her heel, she walked slowly back to the tent, her eyes clouded and stuck to the ground. Stepping in under the flap, she saw that Harry had not moved an inch. He stared at her, his expression a strange mix that she did not have the capacity to process. Every bone in her body felt like lead. Her hair was plastered to her face. The wind howled and pulled aggressively outside as she stared back at Harry.

‘He’s g-g-gone! Disapparated!’

She felt like she was screaming her words, but she knew her voice was soft. Weak. Worn. Her face scrunched as the dam holding her emotions back broke, and heaving sobs wracked through her chest. She crumbled into the armchair in the corner of the tent as she let what felt like decades of stress, anguish, pain, and loss flow through her – not caring when she felt Harry hesitate near her and then the presence of a soft blanket being placed gently on her shoulders.

She heard him leave. She knew he was headed to his own bunk. She knew that she should get herself together, get organized, adjust their plan, figure out their next move – do anything other than sitting as the pathetic curled-up ball that she currently was. But she didn’t care. Right now, it felt like a piece of her had died.

-x-x-

Hermione woke painfully the next morning. Her hair had dried terribly, caked on her face with a few small leaves that had gotten tangled up in the storm. Her chest hurt like she’d run a mile, her eyes were undoubtedly pink and swollen, and her body screamed at her for having sat curled up in a chair all night. Dried tear tracks and snot covered her face, arms and the blanket that Harry had placed on her the night before.

Normally she would be embarrassed by her current state. Not because she cared about appearances – no, Hermione Granger did not care about that – but because she, Hermione Granger, always kept a cool head. She never broke down like she did last night. She never succumbed to the dread that secretly filled her heart. She never gave in or gave up – but last night she had, and it was one of her lowest moments.

Stiffly she shifted into a fully upright position and blinked around the room. It was quiet, and the tent was lit with bright sunlight with the faint sound of birds chirping in the background. It gave no hint to the disturbance that had unfolded in this very space the evening before. She glanced toward Harry’s bunk and saw that his back was to her, and his shoulders moved slowly with each deep breath he took – still asleep and almost peaceful looking to anyone who didn’t know him. Hermione knew him, though, and the slight tension in his shoulders and the blanket twisted around his ankles gave way to the truth that he had slept terribly, probably as bad as she did.

Stifling a groan, she pulled herself from the chair, staying as quiet as possible and set the blanket back down. She did not want to wake Harry. He needed his rest more than he would ever let on, but in truth, she also did not have the heart or the courage she needed to face him just yet. Last night it had felt like a piece of her heart had died, and she knew that Harry would be nursing his own wounds in his own way and that she needed to be there for him. But right now, she looked down at her dirty and still damp clothes feeling a bit disgusted with herself; she needed a shower. And tea. And just a minute or two alone. Frowning at the blanket before her, still covered in her dried snot and tears, she pulled her wand from her sweater pocket and muttered a quick cleaning charm. Then, quiet as a church mouse, she crept toward Harry’s bunk.

Staring down at him, she could see that his brow was furrowed, and as she suspected, the Horcrux locket was draped loosely over his neck. It rested on the mattress next to his chest. Gently, she reached down and undid the clasp, pulling the locket away from him. Almost instantly, the crease in his brow lessened, and he breathed deeper. With a small but sad smile on her face, Hermione snuck to the tent bathroom, grabbed fresh clothes on the way, closed the door and placed the locket around her neck. Taking a deep breath, she stripped off her dirty clothes. Then she turned on the water with her wand, adding a heating spell until steam started to rise. 

The shower in the tent was actually very cleverly designed. The nozzle at the top was enchanted so that tapping it with your wand activated an aqua eructo charm until the nozzle was tapped again to turn off. The bathroom was fairly small, so it did not take long until steam filled the entire room. Then she stepped into the small shower stall and closed the curtain behind her.

She showered longer than what she would ever typically allow herself. Usually, her bathing, all of their bathing actually, was utilitarian – to the point and effective. Though that was probably due to her influence of wanting them to be efficient and the general desire that they all had for not wanting to get caught by snatchers with one of them stark naked in the shower while they needed to escape and apparate quickly. Today though, she allowed herself time to scrub every inch of her body, which she knew was her attempt to scrub away the remorse, sadness, and overall feelings of disappointment from the night before.

The locket swung loosely on her chest as she bathed. It was a nuisance, and she could have left it with Harry, but Hermione had always known that she handled the Horcruxes better than the two boys combined. Harry needed to rest, and sleeping an entire night with the locket on would only make the day ahead of them more difficult than it was already going to be. Besides, she smirked grimly to herself; the locket was dirty with dark magic – it could use a bath.

She cringed inwardly at that, then pondered if the reason why the locket did not impact her so strongly could be related to the meditation skills her parents had taught her as a child. The same meditation techniques that she had religiously continued to use since she was first taught them at eight years old. She’d never mentioned it to anyone, not even to the boys, but as a child, she used to struggle with anxiety related to her insatiable desire to be the best in everything. 

‘Classic perfectionist’, they’d said. 

Being ‘brilliant’ had come with its tolls, and wanting to always be the best in school had left her anxious as a child. So as a young kid, her parents had taught her how to meditate. They taught her how to breathe, relax, organize her thoughts, and work through problems logically and calmly. Ironically, this skill had helped her in almost every single facet of her life thus far and very well might be the best skill she had – and yet not one person knew she had that skill. At least not for her mentioning it. She suspected several of her professors were aware it, and it was very likely the only reason why she, Harry, and Ron were still alive now. If she ever saw her parents again, if they ever remembered her again, she would thank them.

With that thought, Hermione ran her fingers through her wet curly hair one last time and rested her palms and forehead against the cool wall of the shower stall. She allowed herself two minutes of deep calm breathing as the hot water pounded between her shoulder blades, loosening her stiff muscles while the locket hung lightly from her neck – then she opened her eyes. Pulling back the curtain, she stepped out of the shower stall, grabbed her wand from the sink counter and then tapped the overhead nozzle to shut off the water. Casting a quick drying spell, she then grabbed her fresh clothes but paused when she caught her reflection in the mirror. She looked tired. Freshly scrubbed with tinges of pink in her cheeks from the heat, hair still damp and hanging in curls around her shoulder – but the tired she saw seemed to be emanating from her bones.

Her face was skinnier, not gaunt, but thinner. The whole of her was. Being on the run was not luxurious – as Ron had clearly recently concluded – and she frowned at her reflection. If they were truly to fight and win this war, they needed to spend at least a little more time trying to eat well-balanced meals. She would need to look through their supplies today and their schedule to allow more time for food collection and management.

Pulling on her clothes, an old washed-out pair of muggle jeans that showed wear marks at the knees and a long-sleeve, thin and loose-fitting charcoal v-neck sweater, she sighed before brushing her teeth and then turned to her hair. It was the usual bushy mess that she had come to accept. She arched an eyebrow cautiously at it – as if trying not to spook or upset it and thus make it worse. She cast an additional drying spell to remove the lingering dampness. Then she opted to pull it into a messy pony on the top of her head. It flopped lamely to the side – her hair was simply too heavy and thick to look cute in a high pony. So, she twisted it into a large knot and left it there piled atop her head.

Leaning back against the sink, she slowly pulled on her socks. They were purple, knitted, oversized, and warm – perfect since the weather was getting cooler with each passing day. Standing straight with determination, she grabbed her wand and turned to face the mirror once more.

Well, this is as good as it is going to get today,  she thought.

Leaving the small bathroom, she heard a gentle clicking noise in the kitchen area and turned to the left, walking down the very small and very short hallway that led back to the common area of the tent. She paused at the end, looking at Harry, who had two chipped tea mugs sitting on the kitchen table with some small scones on a plate in the middle – they were the last of the scones that they had, she cataloged mentally as a reminder that they would need to grab some more.

He had heard her approaching and looked up about a moment after she had stopped moving. The air felt tense with lingering unsaid words and unsure feelings. Her left hand fiddled nervously with the bottom hem of her shirt. She did not remember ever feeling awkward with Harry in the past, but she didn’t know what to say – neither of them did.

Harry, bless his heart though, spoke first and spoke softly.

Hey,” he said, his hand nervously fidgeting with the spoon he’d likely been using to stir the tea. He was looking directly at her. His eyes were worn and unsure, and she could see the stress he carried in his shoulders.

“Hey,” she said softly as her left hand fell from the hem of her shirt to clasp her wand in front of her. She saw him relax a fraction, the worry in his eyes becoming slightly more hopeful. She could not imagine what he must be thinking.

“I made tea,” he said somewhat abruptly. But his voice was still gentle, like she was a small injured animal that he was worried he might frighten away if he moved too quickly or spoke too loud. “It got cold, though. S-So I just used a warming charm – to reheat it. It’s one milk and two sugars. I’m sorry – I hope it’s okay?”

The last part came out in a bit of a jumble, and Hermione could see the hopeful yet desperate look in his eyes. His genuine concern that his gone-cold-then-reheated-tea might not be ‘okay’ was adorable, and his attempt at ensuring they were okay was clear. Harry was hopelessly helpful and caring – and he had remembered how she took her tea.

Hermione smiled, it was tired but genuine, and her appreciation for his efforts shone through. It was ridiculous for them to feel this uneasy around each other. They’d never had this problem before, and they had been through a lot together.

“It’s perfect, Harry, thank you,” she said as she walked toward the table to take a seat opposite to the side that he was standing on and set her wand down beside her.

He grinned in relief and slowly lowered himself down to the table, patiently waiting while she took a sip of her tea first before grabbing his own gently to hold it near his mouth. Holding hers in a similar fashion, both hands on the warm mug, elbows propped on the table, and the mug hovering just below her chin, she could see the way he studied her face – trying to figure out what to say.

“It’s okay, Harry,” she said softly, removing one hand and reaching it out gently toward his. 

He dropped a hand from his mug and allowed her to grasp his fingers before she placed their intertwined hands between them in the center of the table. She gave him a firm squeeze, but his eyes still searched her face, desperate for something. 

“We - are okay,” she said with surety.

Harry let out a breath he had been holding, his head dropped slightly, shoulders sagging, and he put his tea mug down to place his free hand over his face. He sat for a moment, head held in his hand before he quickly propped himself back up with a deep breath, running his hand through his wild black locks. He looked briefly up at the ceiling before his eyes fell back to her face. They were slightly red now, and she could almost feel the prickle of his tears that had formed in the corner of his eyes. She felt her own sting as she stared intently back at him, both of them trying to push their eotions back down.

“Thank god,” he said weakly, with a look of sad relief flooding his face. “I’m so sorry, Hermione.” 

His eyes were genuine, and he gripped her hand back.

“I know,” she said with earnest. She set her cup down as well, and they instinctively grabbed each other’s hands – now sitting across from each one another tightly gripping the other as if they might lose one another if they let go. “I – I know. I am too. I am so, so sorry, Harry.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he said weakly. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You stayed.”

He stared at her with an adoration she wasn’t sure she’d seen before. 

“Thank you for staying,” he said quietly.

“Of course,” she replied, her eyes flicking across his face. “Of course I would stay, Harry. I said that I would. I told you I would be here until the end – always.”

Harry smiled at her again. With some of the tension having now left his body, he rolled his shoulders back to a more comfortable position.

“I know,” he said quietly. “But still. I know it hasn’t been easy – and I’m sorry that I don’t seem to know what I’m doing half the time. It’s because I don’t. I wish I did. But I don’t. And I’m sorry for that,” he rambled before pausing. He looked at her carefully, sincerely, and spoke the next words slowly and with meaning. “I want you to know how much I need you here. How much I rely on you. And how grateful I am that you stayed. I know that last night wasn’t easy for you – but I’m so, so thankful that you stayed.”

Hermione stared at him; their hands had risen slightly between the two of them, with Harry clutching them almost desperately at his chest. One single tear fell from the corner of her eye, and she smiled with great sadness, her heart feeling heavy, but feeling confident.

“You’re right,” she said softly. “It was hard. But doing the right thing often is – it’s not about making the easy choices or doing what we want to do. It’s about doing the right thing and doing what we need to do. I don’t regret staying. The decision was easy, so don’t you dare ever think anything different–”

Harry had opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, perhaps to thank her again, perhaps to say she shouldn’t be so absolute in her stance – she didn’t know what he was going to say, but she didn’t care. She cut him off and continued. She wanted to get all of this out and on the table now because she didn’t want to keep skirting around on eggshells in a small tent while they had Horcruxes to find and destroy.

“The decision was easy,” she said more firmly, fixing him with a solid stare. “Seeing Ron leave. That – that was hard. It was hard because it hurt. I’m sad, Harry. I’m sad. I’m disappointed. I’m upset. I’m flabbergasted that he even thought to ask me to go with him! I expected more – I expected him to stay true to his word and to see this through. I expected him to be reliable and – and I expected him to, for once, see the bigger picture and understand that this – all of this – what we are doing here – is so much bigger than any of us as individuals. That we have to continue, that we have to do whatever we must to complete this mission.”

Hermione fixed Harry with a stern look of resolve before she continued. Harry himself was quiet now, sitting in a slight lean toward her, and she could see a small glint of determination reforming in his eyes.

“I am upset about Ron, Harry,” she said to make herself perfectly clear before taking a breath and squeezing his hands once firmly. “But I will get over it. Hard times show us who we really are – they show you someone’s true character. I always knew Ron was a little bit unreliable and a bit lazy.” 

She gave Harry a small smile, and he smiled gently too.

“I guess.” She paused. “I guess I just thought that when things got really bad, that when it really came down to it, that I would be able to count on him. I guess I just hoped – that he was a little different.”

Harry’s smile was grim when he spoke.

“I know,” he said, his voice rough. “So did I.”

They sat in silence for a moment, each staring at the hands still interlaced between them. Harry absently rubbed his right thumb over her knuckles in a soothing motion.

“He may still come back,” Harry said with a small smile and a tiny glint of optimism. She could feel his gaze land upon her, waiting for her to respond.

Hermione’s brow creased as she mulled this over. It was a possibility, but she found that her eyes were entranced by the small circles that Harry’s thumb was still making over her knuckles.

“Maybe,” she said slowly and raised her eyes to look at Harry again. “Maybe. But – that won’t change how I feel.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her as if he was looking for her to confirm what she meant by this statement, and in return, she gave him her most direct stare.

“It won’t change how I feel now,” she stated firmly. “What happened here – if he comes back. Maybe – maybe I can forgive him. Maybe we can be friends. But – I can’t look past this. I – I won’t go back to how I felt before.”

Harry looked at her carefully, a thought present in the sight furrow of his brows, and he nodded slowly to show his understanding. Harry was aware of the feelings that Hermione had started to develop toward Ron – not just because he was a keen and observant person, but also because the two of them had briefly touched upon it in conversation. Hermione had been jealous when Ron had started snogging Lavender Brown in sixth year, and Harry had helped her deal with it, telling Hermione that Ron truly was interested in her but was an idiot and didn’t recognize his own feelings. It may have been harsh and earned him a small half-hearted smack from Hermione at the time – but it was true, and Harry knew it. Ron, for all his worth, was not always the brightest. It was very likely that he only ‘liked’ Hermione because they spent so much time together. When in reality, they had absolutely nothing in common and argued often. Harry had always been the bridge between the two of them; he had always been the buffer. Given some space, Ron would probably take interest in other girls and forget his feelings for Hermione all together. But he had never said that to her.

Hermione nodded in return, and Harry squeezed her hands once more before dropping them both back on the table and putting on his best smile.

“So how about breakfast,” he said with slightly over-exaggerated cheer. “I was up all night baking these things.”

Hermione laughed, always thankful for Harry’s ability to move on and force one foot in front of the other. She reached for a scone, taking a bite and complimented him on his cooking skills before taking another sip of the gone-cold-then-reheated-tea-that’s-gone-cold-again tea that Harry had made her.

Appropriate warnings will be given at the start of every chapter going forward.

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After breakfast, the day had continued on with some sort of normality. A general air of sadness at the loss of a third of their ‘ golden trio’ still filled the tent, but the earlier tension and unsurety had now dissipated, and Hermione and Harry were able to interact at their normal comfort level.

She knew that the road ahead of them had just gotten harder and that the lingering sadness wouldn’t fade overnight. However, she felt hopeful that she and Harry could still be successful whether Ron returned or not – Merlin only knows what he’ll decide to do – and she was happy that she and Harry had confirmed their strong friendship and their commitment to move forward. 

After eating her scone, she had made a silent wish to the heavens – or to whatever deity might have been listening – that during their morning conversation she had been able to successfully ward away any lingering doubts Harry might have had with her decision to stay. She meant what she said when she said it, and she didn’t want Harry wasting his time in worry over how she was coping.

After finishing their scones, Hermione had chased Harry into the bathroom to shower and fought off his attempts to take the Horcrux with him. 

“It’s already had a bath today,” she’d stated firmly as she thrust clean clothes into Harry’s chest – his mouth opened in protest. “Besides,” she continued cutting off whatever he was about to say. “You slept with it all last night. It’s my turn to spend some quality time with it.”

He took the clothes she had pushed into his chest but still stood in place, obviously uneasy with just giving in to her demand and leaving her with the locket. She smiled at him and then turned away to the kitchen, intending to review their food list while he cleaned up. “You can have it again tonight if that will make you feel better; now go get clean!” She threw over her shoulder as she grabbed her purse and began riffling through it.

She heard him walk the few small steps to the bathroom and then the sound of the door as it clicked closed. Sighing in relief, she then pulled out the list she kept of all their supplies and ran through it, making notes on what items they needed to restock.

By the time Harry had finished in the bathroom – exiting wearing the set of clean clothes she had handed him and hair still as unruly as ever – it had grown darker outside, and the rain had started once more. Hermione had finished reviewing their supplies and had compiled a comprehensive list of foods and items that they needed to restock. She had since started packing up the kitchen and her belongings – preparing to move on. The riverbank near their campsite had been rising steadily over the past few days, and soon their tent would be a swimming pool. They never stayed in one place for too long, always hopping from site to site to lower the risk of being tracked and caught. Today they were due to move again, and she was going to ensure that they stayed on track.

Harry saw her packing and quietly followed suit, placing his belongings in the bag that Hermione had given him when they first left the Burrow. When they had first set up camp, she taught Ron and Harry how to properly miniaturize their belongings using reducio and how to cast an unbreakable charm to protect their stuff while it was carried within their bags. She’d given each of them a small backpack for storage, though the bags often ended up being carried within her own purse – more often Ron’s, since he tended to not want to carry his own, despite the feather-light charm she had carefully placed on all of their bags.

It took them a little over forty minutes to get everything securely stored away. Twice the time it usually takes , Hermione thought as she placed the teapot back in her purse. She knew that they were moving slowly from the night before, so she said nothing as Harry handed her the last tea mug at a snail’s pace. Taking a mental tally of all their belongings, she looked around the tent once and issued a brief nod when she was certain that nothing was missed. Then, she threw on her rain jacket and looped her purse strap over her shoulder before exiting the tent into the drizzle.

Harry stepped out a moment later, the hood of his own nylon jacket pulled up over his head. She used her wand to fold up the tent and shrunk it down before stowing it away safely in her purse. They both stood quietly in the rain, looking at the growing river bank.

“We can wait a little bit longer,” Harry said with a calm voice.

Hermione looked back the way that Ron had stormed off the night before. It was dark and empty. A tightness in her chest ached to stay, wanting to believe that Ron would show up any second, that they could erase the last 24 hours and go back to how things were. They both stood quietly, looking toward the tree line as if waiting for the familiar popping to sound. Hermione creased her brow, but it won’t go back to the way it was. It can’t. Her logic was overruling her juvenile emotions. I won’t .

It was like a switch flicked in her brain as the logical side of her took action – her strong side, the side that kept her safe, the side that protected her from the dark and dangerous things in the world, the side that analyzed and made the best decisions, the side that knew what she needed, and what she truly wanted. It collected her emotions and feelings for Ron into a neat little box. Then slapped a label on it that read ‘ change your expectations, this won’t give you what you need – directions: process the change and move on ’.  

“No,” she said firmly and with resolve. “We’re not waiting. I’m not wasting my time on false hopes. What’s done is done. Let’s move on.”

With that, she grabbed Harry’s arm firmly and apparated away; the only trace of them left in the soggy wet forest was a slight breeze as their bodies vanished from sight with a faint and distinctive pop.

They landed on a windswept heather-covered hillside, and thankfully, it wasn’t raining. Stripping off their rain jackets, Harry began placing the protective charms while Hermione pulled the tent out of her purse and began to set it up. An hour later, they were seated several feet apart from each other on a large rock outside of the tent, sipping their tea, as the wind blew Hermione’s hair into even more of a mess – her top knot long since forgotten.

“We’re going to need a few more supplies,” Hermione said as she held her mug close to her chest. The wind was cool, but the sun was still warm. The weather was actually not too bad without the rain, the last of the fall season was upon them, and soon it would be cold, snow and sleet. She shivered at the thought and was thankful for the sunshine at the moment.

“Yeah,” Harry said as he placed his teacup down to lean back on both hands. His loose-fitting black t-shirt rippled in the wind. “Our whole ‘hunter-gatherer macho living off the land’ thing has been going pretty terribly, huh?”

She snorted at his attempt to keep the general mood around them becoming closer and closer to running out of food and possibly starving ‘light’.

“Yeah,” she said, mocking his tone and his pose, leaning back and turning her face toward him. “Turns out that having magic doesn’t make it that much easier to catch or collect food. Who would have thought?”

He smiled. “Well, what do you have in mind? We can’t exactly walk into a supermarket. And we don’t have any more Polyjuice potion left.”

She hummed her agreement and pulled a small folded piece of paper out of her pocket. Unfolding it, she leaned to her left to show it to Harry.

“We’re here,” she said, pointing to an area on the map. Harry nodded as if this meant something to him, though in reality, he had no idea where the hell they were. “I camped here once with my family when I was young. There is a small town a few miles to the south, on the other side of this river, with some local farms and markets. I thought – I thought we could stop there to collect some stuff once we’re packed and leaving this place.”

“Okay,” Harry said, slowly looking down at her face. “So – do you think the town is small enough we won’t get noticed, or are you about to suggest something that you from first year would have pitched a fit over?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but clearly, Harry knew her well. She would absolutely never chance bringing them into a city, town or any other populated area after what they went through going to the Ministry of Magic. Not after seeing the undesirable posters. She doubted that Voldemort had any lackeys in this area, but she was just not willing to take the risk – Harry was right. She was about to suggest doing something that naive 11-year-old Hermione Jean Granger would have strongly disagreed with.

“You know perfectly well that I broke school rules in first year,” Hermione replied indignantly.

“Yeah, but that was toward the end of the year. Before that, it was all ‘we could have been killed, or worse expelled!’” he said, feigning concern and placing a hand to his face in mock horror.

“Oh, shut it.” She smacked his arm, her hand still holding the map.

Harry laughed but dropped his mock impression. “You’re right; I’m sorry. You were very rebellious in first year.” He winked. “So, what’s your plan?”

Hermione huffed once but began explaining her plan. They would stay here for several days – typical of their usual campsite process. Then, on the 7th night, because it was a Tuesday and the town should be quiet, they would pack everything up at 12am, and she would apparate them closer to the town. She figured it was best to apparate them to the small pumpkin farm that sat to the north so that they didn’t stumble upon any unsuspecting people. From there, they would sneak into town using some muffling charms and the invisibility cloak while sticking to the shadows. There was a small supermarket and farmer’s market on the main street, and from what she recalled, there should be a back alley running behind the two buildings. If they approached from the north, they could sneak into the alleyway undetected and break into the stores to get their supplies. She had brought muggle money along with her for the mission, so she figured they could place it in the register before leaving – so it wasn’t like they were breaking in and stealing, just breaking in.

Harry nodded after she had finished explaining the plan, using the map to point to the store location and where she thought the alleyway ran. The majority of the residential housing was to the south, so there would only be a few neighbourhood blocks that they would need to navigate through to get to the store. They both agreed that the supermarket would be their prime target. Once they had what they needed, she would immediately apparate them to a new location.

“Alright,” Harry said as he straightened up from looking at her map. “It’s a plan. We’ll just move slowly and carefully and not stick around any longer than we have to.”

She nodded her agreement. Glad that they would soon be getting some supplies and feeling more confident now that Harry had agreed that her plan should be relatively safe.

-x-x-

The next couple of days drifted by slowly, though each day their determination grew stronger, and the thought of having some fresh food over dried packaged goods kept their spirit up. A new routine started to develop between them – during the day, Hermione would read her copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. She would take notes, read books to memorize new spells and look for information that she might have previously missed. Then, she would talk to Phineas’s portrait in hopes of gathering new information and have afternoon tea with Harry outside on their rock. Harry would also talk to Phineas’s portrait – though more often than not, it ended with him stuffing an indignant Phineas back into Hermione’s purse. With the rest of his time, Harry practiced his defence spells, gathered a few of the useful herbs that were growing on the hillside that Hermione had pointed out to him and bottled them carefully per her instructions, and he started working his way through one of Hermione’s books on defence and offensive spells.

In the evening, they always ate their dinners together and discussed through anything new that they had learned during the day or reviewed the information that was provided by Phineas. They didn’t learn anything useful over the few days that they spent on the heather-covered hillside, but Hermione liked that they had established the habit anyways. Chores and maintenance tasks seemed to divide evenly and naturally between the two of them – if Hermione prepared the food, Harry would clean up afterwards with no question. If Harry checked and set the protective spells around the campsite, Hermione would update their list of supplies and give the tent a quick clean with some cleaning charms. They continued to take turns guarding the tent at night in four-hour stints and would smile sleepily at each other when they traded places. Each day that went by, things got easier, and the to-the-bone tired feeling they’d had the night Ron left began to lessen.  

They didn’t speak about Ron. His name was not uttered once during the entire duration they spent on the hillside. The wound was still a bit too fresh, and in Hermione’s opinion – she had nothing to say.

What was there to say? He’d abandoned them. He’d done exactly what she knew she should have expected from him – but it was exactly what she had been hoping he wouldn’t do. 

In a lot of ways, she wasn’t even surprised it had happened. So, the topic was left untouched. Though she suspected it might come up later as time went on and it became easier to speak about it impartially. For now, though, she was content to busy herself with reading and trying to plan where to go next.

After dinner on the seventh night, Harry carried the dishes to the kitchen, casting a cleaning spell he’d learned from Hermione earlier in the week before carefully setting the dishes onto the counter.

“Did you want to try and catch some sleep before tonight,” he asked as he set the last plate down.

Hermione looked up at him. She had already pulled a book from her bag, opening it to the page she’d left off at the night previously.

“I probably should,” she sighed. “It’s going to be a long night. But honestly, Harry, I don’t think I’ll be able to. My mind is racing right now. I know this plan is safe – we’ll be okay – I just–” She stopped and grimaced slightly. “I still can’t help but be nervous – after the Ministry.”

Harry nodded; he understood.

“I know,” he sighed too and came to sit at the table across from her. “I just thought I’d offer since I know I won’t be sleeping, but – it will be fine. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Just a quick in – grab supplies – then out, and we’ll be right on our way.”

Hermione nodded and then proceeded to read her book. For the next few hours, they sat across from one another in comfortable silence, reading and waiting until midnight. Harry had started flicking through her copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard when Hermione announced it was time to pack up.

They packed with efficiency this time and had the whole tent deconstructed, neatly folded and put away within 20 minutes. They’d both changed promptly into black clothes before they’d started packing, unanimously deciding that it would be a good idea. Looking like a pair of ninjas in the night, Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm firmly and apparated them to the pumpkin farm on the north side of the town.

-x-x-

The field was quiet when they appeared, the night’s temperature significantly lower than the heat provided by the still-warm sun during the day. She suspected the warm-days-cool-nights season would not last much longer, though. They crouched together quietly while Harry pulled out his invisibility cloak from his pack, draping it across his forearm before re-shouldering his pack. As they stood, Hermione cast two muffling charms at each of their feet; then, they proceeded to creep through the dark pumpkin patch toward the town.

When they finally approached the first block of houses in the small neighbourhood to the north of the supermarket, Harry covered them with the cloak and snugged up closer behind Hermione, laying one gentle hand on her shoulder so they could move more smoothly together. Travelling with multiple people under the cloak had ceased to be easy years ago – they were no longer the eleven-year-old children sneaking around the castle library for books on Nicolas Flamel as they once were. Though Harry was not as tall as Ron or as thick as some of his peers, he had still grown into a 5’-10” tall man with broad shoulders. Hermione was petite and on the shorter side – but regardless, navigating with two full-sized adults essentially under a blanket no bigger than a double bed flat sheet was difficult.

Hermione took the lead, knowing that Harry had put her in front because she knew the area. Slowly, she led them through the neighbourhood streets toward the alleyway behind the supermarket. It took them several minutes, but they did not run into anyone along the way.

Entering the back alleyway, they moved even more cautiously. The area was small and cluttered with many different objects littering their escape path. Dumpsters, doorways, boxes, random junk, and signs left plenty of opportunity for people or random animals to hide behind – thankfully, they ran into none. Arriving at a slightly rusted door, Hermione raised her wand to whisper alohomora and unlocked it before they scuttled inside.

She supposed that they would have attempted to apparate directly into the store, but that idea was even more dangerous than sneaking in. She hadn’t been in this supermarket in years, and if she wasn’t careful, she could apparate them inside a wall and partway through a shelf. Apparating indoors to specific locations was much more tricky than broad-ranged apparitions outdoors, and they had agreed it wasn’t worth the risk when they had the cloak at their disposal.

They spent over an hour and a half working their way through the grocery store aisles collecting different foods – mostly fresh – and other supplies like toothpaste, paper, soap, and shampoos. Each item was shrunk down and carefully loaded into Hermione’s purse – each stored in a particular location within her undetectable extension charmed bag so that they could access it easily later. She preserved several of the food items so that they would keep, using charms that Harry was unfamiliar with, so that they could stock up on extra of everything. Harry was very pleased when Hermione grabbed a treacle tart, his favourite, from the bakery section and added it to the purse.

Once all their items had been safely stowed away, they approached the cash register, and Hermione carefully counted out bills from the pile she had on hand. Tapping the register gently with her wand, she left the cash inside and then closed it once more. Harry waited patiently for her to complete this task, knowing full well that she would never agree to steal the supplies – and frankly, he admired her for her high moral standards, never failing, not even in war. He also understood it. This was a muggle store, they had nothing to do with this fight, and she didn’t want them to pay the price on behalf of the wizarding world.

By this point, they both felt the stress and anxiety of their little side quest thinning, and they were feeling pretty victorious and pleased with themselves. Eager to get out into the cool night air, they made their way to the back alleyway exit door in silence. They hadn’t spoken during their shopping excursion as they both were unsure what kind of alarms – if any – a small town supermarket would have. So, they opted to stay on the side of caution and communicated with slight tugs or pulls of one another’s jacket.

Reaching the door, Hermione pushed it open with far less caution than she’d had while entering the store. They carefully stepped out into the alleyway together and closed the door silently behind them, locking it shut again. Turning to the right, she moved them away from the light that hung in the alley and any of the potential security cameras so that they could stand in the dark while Harry put the cloak away. Harry didn’t trust apparating with the cloak out, and Hermione agreed – it was far too valuable to lose.

Harry removed the cloak and stretched gratefully, unslinging his pack and dropping to his knees to stuff it inside. Hermione took a step away to stretch, raising her arms above her head and looking at the night’s sky. It was beautiful, a full moon. She rolled her neck gently and twisted her shoulders to stretch further – turning her head quickly to the right when she heard what sounded like a surprised grunt and froze.

Two large yellowish eyes stared back at her – they looked surprised, but only momentarily. 

Werewolf ! Hermione’s mind screamed.

Her hand shot out, grabbing for Harry as she started to call him “Harr- UMPF! ”

Her cry was cut off as the werewolf – no longer stunned by their sudden appearance – lashed out a clawed arm at her in a swiping motion, clearly aiming to disembowel her. She saw a flash of gold before it caught her across the chest and stomach, knocking the wind from her lungs as she was thrown backward several feet down the alley. Her head hit the pavement hard, and her vision blurred black before white lights danced in front of her eyes. Her hands came up in front of her desperately; wand raised at a target that she couldn’t even see as sharp, searing pain shot through her head, and she noted that it felt warm and wet.

“HERMIONE!” Harry yelled. He’d obviously noticed the werewolf now and had thrown two stunning spells at it – but they did little to stop it as he scrambled to his feet to run toward her.

The beast lunged for his legs, mouth wide, drool flying, its eyes glowing and rolling with rage. Harry jumped and rolled to the side with no amount of finesse – barely getting his leg out of the way before the werewolf’s jaws snapped shut viciously. He threw two more spells at its face, but it only growled and bared jagged white teeth before it lunged again with a violent snarl.

Hermione managed to get herself off the ground, standing on legs that swayed with eyes that swam before she threw two stunning spells at it, and Harry dodged it for a second time. Wincing her eyes in pain, the agony screaming from her chest called her to blackout – she looked for Harry and begged her mind to focus. Werewolf, werewolf – what the fuck do I use?!

Harry was now just a few feet from her to the left, on his back in an awkward position, having landed roughly to avoid the jaws that so desperately tried to rip a piece of him off. He could barely cast counters as his main focus was dodging and saving the limbs that the werewolf seemed determined to take while he tried to keep a tight hold on his wand.

She forced her brain to calculate, to function, and then she raised her wand with a faintly shaking hand the same second the werewolf made to lunge toward Harry again – she struck it twice. Hard. Once with a strong confundo, s econd with a direct hit diffindo – she saw it rip across the werewolf’s chest and blood splattered to the ground. Pausing only for a heartbeat, she threw herself toward Harry, left hand outstretched, and she cast a final spell: confringo! The werewolf and the alley where she had aimed violently exploded, shards of debris flew everywhere – but her hand had already grabbed Harry’s, he gripped her tightly, and she apparated them away.

Warning:

This chapter contains: blood, and severe injuries.

-x-x-

The world around them had distorted violently, Hermione’s nails ripping into Harry’s skin as new surroundings started to warp into view. Grass, the smell of the ocean, dampness and a cool breeze hit her senses rapidly. The moment the grassy hills solidified around them and Hermione was sure she had completed their apparition, she let go of Harry’s hand, unable to hang on anymore, and thumped to the ground. The force of the impact pushed the air from her lungs once more as her back collided with the ground. It was dark, the grass was damp, and she had brought them to a grassy hill near the ocean in South England – she hoped. Rolling immediately to her side Hermione vomited violently, convulsing as her head pounded, feeling as though it had been split open like a melon.

There was a reason why apparition required licensure. There was a reason why you never apparated when drunk or injured – it was incredibly difficult to do and required immense concentration. A concentration that Hermione knew she barely had as she felt herself fading in and out of consciousness. A new wave of nausea hit her when her brain circled back to Harry. 

HARRY! Where did Harry land! She tried to get on her knees, but her whole body was shaking so violently she slumped back down again onto her back, unable to see anything as her vision faded out once more, only hearing the sound of the waves and the smell of the ocean as a light breeze blew over her face.

“HARRY!” she called out with as much force as she could manage. He could have been flung a decent way away when she let go of his hand, and she didn’t know if he’d been injured in the last moments of their escape. FUCK! She thought, hot tears forming in her eyes. I shouldn’t have let go! She wailed inwardly, I should have made myself hang on!

Raising her hand to her chest, she flinched at the pain when she touched it and pulled her hand away quickly as she gagged from the feeling. Her eyes began to refocus, her surroundings becoming visible once more. She raised her hand in front of her face. She was unable to see the colour that stained it as it was still dark outside, but it didn’t matter – she knew it was wet. Dripping wet. In her blood.

A light flashed to her right, and she heard Harry screaming her name.

“HERMIONE! HERMIONE!” Harry’s voice was loud and desperate. “Fuck - HERMIONE!”

“HERE!” she yelled, hand raised in the air above her, hoping that Harry would see it above the tall grass.

“I’m here!” she choked out.

The light flashed in her direction and bobbed around as she heard the thumping of feet approaching. Left hand still raised in the air for Harry to see, she slowly raised her right hand and wand toward her head. It was wet too, and she felt a tear in her scalp along the back. She groaned, feeling like she was going to vomit again.

“HERMIONE!” Harry called once more as she heard him close in, the light from his wand casting over her outstretched hand. “Shit!”

Harry’s blood turned cold at the sight, a bloodied hand was outstretched from the tall grass, the blood was literally dripping from her fingers. He ran toward her at twice the speed, terrified of what he would see when he got there. He dropped to his knees when he reached her side, grabbing her outstretched hand in his and clenching it.

“Hermione – fuck, okay.” The panic in his voice made her head spin, and she felt him drop her hand and tug at the strap around her body. Her hand fell to her side limply. She didn’t have the energy to move. She didn’t have the energy to do anything.

“Harry,” she whimpered, her eyes glazing over with more tears from the pain as her head lolled to the side. She looked up at him, catching a glimpse of his face. It was wrought with worry, and fear flashed in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he said to her, but his voice betrayed him and shook with terror. “ Diffindo !” Harry cut her purse strap and ripped the top of the bag open.

“Cle-anin - Dit-tany,” she slurred as her vision blurred, mind waving in and out. She had lost far too much blood. “Sil- sil-vr. Blo-od replensss – po-” She couldn’t get her mouth to make the sounds that she needed them to.

“Shh, it’s okay – I’ve got you.” His voice was tense, unstoppering the bottle in his hands as he spoke. “I’ve got you. You’re okay - it’s going to be okay-”

When Harry had hit the ground, he landed about three hundred feet away from Hermione. His side hit the ground – hard – and he had felt his ribs crunch painfully. Wincing, he forced himself up to his feet and looked around wildly, wand in hand, searching for Hermione. He’d caught a glimpse of her before she had lunged toward him in the alley to grab his hand and apparate them away – it was a sight he wasn’t prepared for, one he hoped he’d never see again. Her entire front was covered in red blood, and it poured from her shredded jacket. Thin tendrils of blood leaked down her face from her head and across her high cheekbones while blood caked the side of her neck.

He immediately began screaming her name, running in the direction he thought he saw her fall when the apparition was complete. He paused every few feet, listening intently, using his wand for light, then he heard his name, and his head jerked to the left. Just there to the left, he’d heard her. He knew he had heard her, and so he bolted. Running faster than he had ever run in his life, ignoring the screaming pain from his lungs while he breathed. Then he saw her hand, jutting out from the grass – ghost-white against the crimson that stained her fingers and palms, that dripped down her forearm. When he’d gotten to her, it was so much worse than what he hoped to find. His stomach twisted as he’d dropped to his knees.

Now kneeling beside her, Harry recalled what Hermione had done when Ron was splinched. He’d summoned the essence of dittany the second he had her bag open along with a wound cleaning potion, but Hermione hadn’t even heard the words leave his mouth and was still trying to mumble out instructions. With the bottle unstoppered, he first dowsed her wounds with the cleaning potion, dumping it generously over her and holding her steady when she flinched and reeled from the pain. A sound that could only be described as a yowl poured from her mouth.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione.” He winced as he dropped the now empty potion bottle to the ground. Grabbing the dittany next, he unstoppered it just as fast as he had the first bottle. He quickly placed several drops over the wound on her head. He cradled her neck gently as he lifted her head up higher so that he could apply it to the full length of the wound – shushing her gently when she moaned out in protest.

He then placed the bottle on the ground with shaking hands and tore open the shredded outer jacket she had on. He gagged, fearing he’d be sick – it looked like something from a horror film. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly. Her dark grey shirt was torn in three large lines – all of which were oozing blood through her mangled skin. Using a carefully pointed diffindo, he cut her shirt down the middle and peeled it delicately to the sides. She cried out in protest, arm jutting forward to grab his forearm tightly, nails embedding themselves in his arm.

“Si – v – rr,” she slurred out again, eyes meeting his briefly before they rolled back into her head.

“Si-v,” Harry mimicked her noise, his mind racing and ignoring the painful grip she had on his arm. “Sil-er – Silver!” he shouted, sure that this was what she meant and taking her responding groan as confirmation.

He reached for her bag again and summoned silver , unsure of exactly what would show up – but out popped a small bottle of what looked like silver powder.

“Okay – okay, I’ll put this on too.” His voice was quick, barely keeping the panic at bay as he picked up the dittany and began pouring it along her chest wounds, shaking a small amount of the silver powder on top of it. He had no idea what he was doing. He wasn’t a giant encyclopedia of knowledge like Hermione was – but he trusted her mind even when she was in this state.

Hermione cried out beneath his hands as he worked. 

“I know,” he said as soothingly as he could while her whimpers continued. “I know, I’m sorry – I’m so sorry, Hermione. It’s okay – you’re going to be okay.”

He added another pass of dittany to her wounds for good measure, then capped the bottle before dropping it to the ground next to the silver powder. Finally, he summoned the blood replenishing potion, cracked the bottle open, and then lifted her head to rest on his extended leg before bringing the bottle to her lips.

“Hermione,” he said in the calmest voice he could manage. “I’ve got the blood replenishing potion. You have to drink it, okay – I need you to swallow.” He tilted the bottle, and she managed to drink a gulp of the potion before she sputtered and coughed.

Shit! he thought as he brought the bottle away from her lips. I have no idea how much to give her.

“I – I don’t know how much Hermione – please,” he stammered, a new desperation in his voice. I’m so fucking useless, he moaned inwardly, cursing his lack of knowledge and his constant dependency on the very girl who now laid limp and bloodied in his arms. “How much do I give you?”

“T-t-tooo. Bot – bot -s–” she stammered out, her eyes had fallen closed, and her body started shaking from blood loss.

Harry quickly brought the bottle back up to her mouth and coaxed the rest of it down. He discarded the first empty bottle and summoned a second and helped her drink it, muttering encouraging words to her as she went. Promising her that she would be okay, that they would be fine and that when this was all over, he was going to learn. He was going to be better. He would be prepared – he would be someone that she could depend on. When the second bottle was finished, she looked a little less pale, her breathing had evened out, and her shaking had subsided to a gentle tremor. She took a shaky breath as her eyes fluttered beneath her lashes; Harry held onto her hand gently so she would know he was there, that she wasn’t alone.

Upon a quick inspection a moment later, the wound on the back of her head seemed to be all but healed, the dittany having worked exactly the way that he knew it should – but the wounds across her chest were a different story and like nothing he’d ever seen. They were large, angry and deep. They had closed now, so she wasn’t losing any additional blood – but only just, and they looked as if a gust of wind might rip them open again if it was anything more than a slight breeze. It was too hard to see the exact extent of the damage or what scarring might be left due to all the blood that still covered her chest and the torn remains of her shirt that stuck to her skin.

The tension in her body was evident, and her hand still trembled in Harry’s with a constant steady shake. Her whole body shivered slightly against the cold ground, and her breathing was still quicker than normal. Harry knew that she needed to relax, she needed to rest so that her body could heal, and he needed to get her cleaned up so that he knew what he was dealing with. He reached for her bag and summed out one bottle of calming draught and two blankets. Rolling one up like a pillow, he gently placed it under her head and then covered her with the second.

“Hermione,” he said slowly, still gripping her shaking hand. “I’m going to get the tent set up and get you inside and cleaned up. I’ve got calming draught for you first, okay? It – it will help. I’ll only be gone a minute, okay? I promise – just a minute – so I can get you inside.”

She murmured something that Harry could not make out. It sounded like ‘ mmm’ to him, though, so he quickly tilted her head again and slowly poured the calming draught into her mouth. She swallowed diligently, and after finishing the bottle, he saw her form visibility relax. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before standing quickly to set up the tent.

Harry moved faster than he thought physically possible, circling the area to set up the protective wards and enchantments – one eye always on Hermione’s small form in the grass. He then summoned the tent from her purse, it flew out aggressively, and he had it set up in the shortest time he’d ever managed it. Throwing the empty bottles, remaining essence of dittany and silver powder into her purse, he collected her wand and then, using his own, carefully levitated her into the tent. She murmured only slightly at the movement, having lost consciousness while Harry was setting up the tent.

Transfiguring the now bloodied blanket into a sort of cot, he laid Hermione on it in the center of the kitchen area and then proceeded to clean her up. Using one of the spells she’d taught him, tergeo, and a damp cloth, he wiped away the blood on her hands, face, neck, and head – purposely leaving her chest for last as he was terrified to touch it. Terrified that he’d accidentally rip it back open and undo whatever he’d managed to do thus far. He forced his hands to be steady, taking deep breaths as he worked and blinked back the tears that had started to form in his eyes.

Once the rest of her was cleaned up, he carefully cut away the remainder of her shirt and jacket and discarded them to the side – he left her bloodied bra in place for the time being, despite the fact that it didn’t seem to be held together in the center anymore after having been sliced down the middle by the werewolf’s claw. He didn’t feel comfortable removing it – it felt too invasive, she wasn’t even conscious right now. He cast a quick cleaning charm on it to help clear the dried blood, deciding that he would remove it once the rest of her chest was cleaned up before he put her in a fresh shirt, and he promised himself that he would close his eyes while doing so.

Cleaning the front of her off gave a much better picture of the damage that was done. She’d received three large wounds. The first swept across her left collar bone to mid-sternum. The second started just above her left breast and cut clear across her chest down to her lower ribs on the right side – directly between her breasts, although thankfully not touching them. The third stretched from the top left of her stomach down to almost her right hip bone above her belly button. 

Harry’s breath shuddered as he stared down at her. She was so small. So fucking tiny , he thought. So much smaller than he had ever realized, and now, she was marred with scars that were too large for her. Too angry. Too violent. Sure, the blood was gone, her shredded skin was ‘healed’ from the dittany and silver – but the distorted and angry red marks - they would stay. He knew they would. He didn’t know much about injuries caused by werewolves, but if the dittany hadn’t removed the scars yet – they weren’t going anywhere. A tear slipped from his eye, and he shook his head as a sob caught in his throat.

“IT’S NOT RIGHT!” he screamed out, the quiet tent rippling from the breeze in response. He threw the bloodied rag he still held to the ground as hard as he could, his breath coming in short gasps.

He reached for her bag, unable to keep his hands from shaking as he pulled out a fresh set of her clean clothes. Then carefully, so as not to move her too much, he redressed her in a pair of comfy black sweats and a loose-fitting purple zip-up sweater. True to his earlier promise, he kept his eyes closed when he removed her bra, mindful of where he placed his hands and ensuring that she was properly covered before he opened them again. It wasn’t easy, but with a zipper sweater, it was possible.

Then he levitated her from the makeshift cot to her bunk, adding a pair of her thick knitted red socks to her feet before pulling the blanket over her.

Unable to leave her side, Harry pulled a chair over next to her bunk and sat down. Grabbing hold of her hand gently, he began tracing light circles across her knuckles with his thumb. She looked calm now, her face no longer distorted in anguish. Her cheeks were rosy – having been freshly replenished with blood. Her breathing was deep and relaxed thanks to the calming draught, and the cut on her head had all but vanished.

“You’re okay,” he said softly, his eyes tracing the shape of her face, memorizing it. “I’m going to make sure you’re okay. Always.”

The sound of the ocean waves rocked gently through the tent as he continued to stare at her. He stared at her in silence until his eyes started to droop, until his shoulders started to slump and until his head bobbed and he drifted off to sleep still clutching her hand.

-x-x-

Hermione’s head pounded. It felt like someone had hit her across the back of her head with a rock or perhaps a sledgehammer. Her eyes were still closed, they felt too heavy to open, but she could hear a faint voice to her right. It was familiar – though her brain did not seem to want to function properly just yet. She was tired, so tired. Her body felt like it had been put through a garburator and her chest ached something awful. She laid there for a moment longer, trying to collect her bearings, trying to recall what her last conscious thought had been. It was at that moment that she heard the gentle waves, and she registered the smell of the ocean – and then everything flooded back to her like lightning.

“HARRY!” she screamed as her eyes flew open and she attempted to shoot up in bed.

Firm hands grasped her shoulders and supported her as she nearly collapsed from the intense pain that ripped through her chest.

“Hey, relax,” someone said. It was Harry’s voice, and it was calm. It was soothing.

She forced her eyes to focus as she allowed the arms that held her shoulders to gently guide her to lean on a pillow propped up from the bed. Harry was there, to her right – an opened book half-fallen out of his lap as he leaned over her to lay her down. His eyes looked tired and worn, but there was something else there – happiness, and he looked like he was going to cry.

“Harry, are you alright?” she asked, voice hoarse. Her brows furrowed in concern as she examined his face, neck, and chest – her eyes drifting over his body, quickly taking him in to make sure he was all there. “Were you bitten? Are you okay?”

Tears filled Harry’s eyes, and his face scrunched a fraction. She didn’t understand what was going on – then he laughed. It was more like a bark, a release of physical tension as his face turned into an anguished joy she’d never seen before, and he leant forward to hug her.

“You’re fucking unbelievable, Hermione,” he said into her hair. She could feel his tears against her cheek, and she stiffly raised her left arm to hug him back. A sob escaped his chest, and he pulled her tighter to him – but not too tight, she noted, he was handling her with restraint.

“You were mauled by a fucking werewolf, you split your head open, you almost died from blood loss, you’ve been unconscious for two days–“ his voice broke as he nuzzled his head closer to her neck. “And you ask me if I’m okay? – fuck – yes, I’m okay, Hermione – ugh.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled into his neck. He laughed slightly before he gently pulled away, sitting back down on his chair but leaning toward her.

“Are you okay?” he asked her, looking at her as intently as she had examined him.

“I feel like shit if I’m being honest,” she replied, a weak smile gracing her lips. Harry returned her smile empathetically, and she continued. “My head’s a bit rough, like a bad headache – I – I must have hit it a bit harder than I thought.”

Harry nodded. “You did. There was a gash along the back – it’s healed up now, but I imagine it still hurts something terrible. Is there anything that I can get you for the headache?”

Hermione nodded slowly, her head not allowing anything faster.

“Before we left, Mrs. Weasley gave me a few of her home remedy potions for headaches. She calls them headache helpers , and there should be some in my bag.”

Harry nodded. 

“Let’s see.” He reached down beside him, grabbed her bag, and located the small bottle with a smile. “Here you go.” 

He carefully opened the bottle and passed it to her. Hermione took the potion gratefully, drinking it quickly and returning the bottle to Harry. Harry saw the effects of the potion almost instantly, the slight furrow in her brow relaxing and her shoulders dropping a fraction.

“Better?” he inquired, eyebrow raised in anticipation.

“So much.” She let out a breath and relaxed further into her pillow – a small smile on her lips.

“Good,” Harry said, grinning widely. 

Then he paused for a minute and gently took her right hand again, leaning in toward her once more. Slowly and cautiously, he raised his eyes to meet hers. 

“How about your chest?” he asked softly.

“It-” Hermione grimaced, looking down at the purple zip-up sweater she was wearing. “It aches.” 

The words sounded hollow, and Harry’s hand instinctively tightened around hers. She squeezed back.

“It – um – it aches in a way that I can’t even describe.” She looked up at him, despair present in her eyes. “I know it won’t heal fully,” she stated quickly, her voice switching to a matter-of-fact-strictly-business tone.

“I wasn’t bitten – just scratched – I was lucky – but injuries inflicted by a werewolf are dark magic – they don’t heal like other wounds.” She was trying to make her voice optimistic, like somehow, she had gotten the good end of the stick. “Some never heal. A lot of people bleed out before they even have to worry about being infected. I was lucky – we were lucky. It was a full moon. If we’d been bitten, we would have been infected.”

“I know,” Harry said gently, gesturing his head towards her purse. “I spent yesterday reading about werewolves and researching how to treat wounds to make sure I didn’t miss anything. You only get infected if you’re bitten when they’re in wolf form at a full moon. We were incredibly lucky. One nip on either of us, and we would have been infected. The silver powder mixed with dittany will seal the wounds so you don’t bleed to death – but they never fully heal. They always leave lasting scars. Hermione–”

He paused, shaking his head once firmly and looked at her seriously.

“If you hadn’t told me to use the silver powder – you would have bled to death. Your wounds wouldn’t have closed. I would have dumped the whole bottle of dittany over you like a fucking moron, and you would have bled out in my arms!” His voice had risen in volume, and he was clutching her hand tightly.

“Harry,” Hermione said softly. He’s angry¸ she thought, and she frowned. Angry at himself . “Harry, it’s okay, you saved my li–”

“No, you saved your life!” Harry yelled, cutting her off. He looked almost out of breath, like he’d been waging a silent inner war for the past two days. “You knew what to do, you told me , you TOLD me to get the silver powder. You were bloody half-dead, and you still knew what to do – you STILL had to help me.”

His face was broken. The hand that didn’t hold hers was flailing in the air wildly from his gestures.

“Harry, stop; you saved me that night. Without you there, I would have DIED!” Hermione was sitting up now, ignoring the throbbing in her chest.

Harry shook his head, letting go of her hand and dropping it into both of his hands before running his fingers back through his hair and sitting up straight. A look of dead seriousness had befallen his face.

“You were right,” he said quietly, his eyes gazing up at the roof of the tent. “Before, I mean. You were always right before.”

“What do you mean, Harry?” she asked, placing a calming hand on his knee.

“In school. You were right in school.” He turned his eyes to hers, and it was at that moment she registered the desperation and pain in his eyes. “We never took anything seriously.”

He was painfully quiet now, and Hermione held her breath to hear him.

“We never studied unless you made us. We never cared. I never put in enough effort. I never tried to better myself the way that I should have. I just screwed around having fun, thinking I could learn it later, or thinking that I didn’t need it at all because it was boring . I spent six years – six years surrounded by almost infinite resources! I could have learned anything! But I didn’t. I got caught up in everything going on with You Know Who, and I chose to rely on my luck instead of bettering my skill. I relied on everyone else around me. But mostly, I relied on you.” He was staring at her with such intensity she had to force herself to continue looking him in the eyes. “We’re in the middle of a fucking war, and I’m unprepared. Not only do I have no idea what the hell it is that I’m supposed to be doing – I’m also a joke. I hardly know anything that I should. I know only a fraction of what you do – I know I’ll never be as smart as you, but I am so – so god damn disappointed in myself! If not for you, I’d be dead by now. If not for you, you would have died the other night. All I did was follow exactly what you told me and do what I’d seen you do before, and I-I’m–”

He had clenched his fists angrily beside him, and Hermione was unaware of how tightly she now gripped his knee.

“I’m supposed to be some chosen one , and I’m useless – and I’m done with it,” he said, staring at her meaningfully. “Once you’re healed, I want you to teach me. I want you to show me. I want to practice. I want to learn what I need to know. Every hour we’re stuck waiting to find a clue and figure out what to do, I want to work – harder than I’ve ever worked before. I want to be someone you can be proud of. I want to be there for you, the way that you have been there for me – I – I want you to be able to depend on me.”

He reached out gently now, the anger and yelling having faded away, leaving only a lingering intensity and determination.

“Please, Hermione,” he said as he clutched her hand securely between his own, bringing it up to his face and pressing it to his chin and lower lip. “Will you help me one last time? Will you help me become more?”

Hermione wasn’t sure that she had been breathing during Harry’s rant. She wanted to tell him that he was incredible as he was, that he was talented, kind, and caring – that he had skills that she could never dream of having, and he shouldn’t be so hard on himself. He was an incredible person, and she respected and cared for him more than he could even begin to comprehend. She opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come out.

His eyes were desperate and scared. They were eager and nervous. They were hopeful, and the determination that burned in them made a shiver run down her spine. 

This was about her – about what happened to her. That night had terrified Harry to his core, down to the very essence of his being. It was the first time he truly realized that he might lose her – he might lose her because of his shortfalls. 

He was scared. Scared that next time she might not be able to tell him what to do, to guide him. That he might be left alone and not have the answer to the problem – that he might have to watch her bleed out in his arms. The reality of the war and the possibilities of what could come had cut deep into his soul.

She took a shaky breath and fixed her eyes firmly to his – he didn’t need adoration right now. He didn’t need his ego praised. He needed to grow, and he wanted her support to do so.

“Yes,” she breathed in a whisper, the words falling softly from her lips.

Harry’s eyes closed in relief, and he placed a soft kiss on her knuckles.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Warning:

This chapter contains: mental aftermath of severe injuries.

-x-x-

They sat quietly for several minutes after Harry’s outburst and his request for her help in his plan to become more. Hermione was leaned back against the pillow; Harry hunched forward – elbows resting on his knees with her hand still pressed gently to his closed lips as he stared at the edge of the bed in front of him.

Hermione spoke first, clearing her throat slightly as the words came out.

“Thank you – for cleaning me up,” she said, her voice soft, and her eyes were downcast.

“Yeah, of course,” Harry said with a small smile, sitting up straight to look at her. Then he noticed the blush that crept over her cheeks, not quite hidden by her hair. Oh , he thought as the realization dawned on him. She was embarrassed. “I didn’t – I-I didn’t look!”

He stammered the words out quickly, a blush forming on his cheeks as he averted his eyes back down to the hand he still held – now realizing the intimacy of his recent actions, he felt nervous. He squeezed her hand once and then gently placed it back on the bed.

“I closed my eyes,” he continued awkwardly. “I didn’t think it was right to – you weren’t awake, and I – I didn’t look when I – erm – changed your clothes.”

Hermione’s face turned a very bright shade of scarlet, but she forced herself to look up toward him.

“That must have, um,” she said, briefly swallowing down the awkwardness. “That must have made things a little bit more difficult.”

Harry smiled sheepishly and looked up to meet her eyes.

“Only a little,” he admitted, the blush still tinting his cheeks. “But I didn’t mind. It was the least I could do, Hermione.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling back at him.

“So, are you hungry or thirsty? Should I get you something to drink?” He looked at her with anticipation, hoping this awkwardness would go away and ready to get her whatever she needed.

“I’m actually starving,” she breathed, a genuine grin gracing her lips. “But umm, I – I need to go to the loo.”

Hermione’s blush deepened once more.

“Right!” Harry said quickly, standing up awkwardly and moving the chair out of the way as he muttered to himself. “Of course, of course – you’ve been asleep for two days.”

He stood at the edge of her bed, helped her pull the blanket off and swing her legs over the side. Standing directly in front of her, they grabbed each other’s forearms, and Hermione took a breath.

“You ready?” he asked, waiting for her to take the lead.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. Spreading her feet on the ground to a wider stance. “Okay, let’s do this – now.”

Harry all but entirely lifted her up while Hermione pushed the best she could with her feet. A loud groan seeped through her lips, and she swayed on her feet, head dropping to collide with Harry’s chest. Her grip on his forearms was tight, and she let out a raggedy breath.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked softly, ducking his head closer to her ear and her soft curls brushed his cheek.

“Yeah,” she said, slightly breathless. “Yeah – yeah, I’m okay. Okay.”

Hermione slowly lifted her head and let go of one of his arms, giving him the faintest smile. Walking slowly with Harry at her side, still clutching his one arm, they made their way over to the washroom. Her steps were slow, and each movement hurt. Once at the door, Harry let Hermione go but made her promise to call him if she needed anything – adding with a wink that he would, of course, close his eyes. Hermione snorted at him but agreed, accepting the clean clothes he handed her, as a faint blush flushed her cheeks, and she thanked him quickly and entered the bathroom.

Hermione closed the door to the bathroom behind her and took the three small steps to the loo, hand on the sink for balance. She gritted her teeth in pain, clenching her jaw to hold back a painful groan as she lowered herself to the toilet and forced herself back up afterwards. 

Who would have thought that going to the bathroom would be so painful! she thought in frustration.

But succumbing to the pain or lazing about after her injury was the worst thing that she could do. Essence of dittany heals wounds almost instantly, after the healed person needs to force the newly constructed muscle and skin to adapt and essentially become one with the rest of their unharmed body. The lingering painful throbs were only her nerve endings sorting out the fact that they’d been healed and reattached – but they weren’t damaged any longer. She needed to be up and moving around, forcing the newly mended muscles in her body to strengthen and adjust, and she needed to force her mind to accept that she was healed.

That was the interesting thing about magical healing. It fixed you physically, but it didn’t exactly send a memo to your brain telling it to understand that you were no longer injured. Half the healing process for wizards was allowing time for your brain to process the pain, process what had happened, and accept it and move on.

In this case, however, she knew that the intense pain she was feeling was also related to the dark magic that now lingered in her body and the damage that it had done to her core muscles. Based on her readings, she expected the pain to continue much longer than what would be considered normal for magical healings – and the scars.... well, they would last forever.

Now finished washing her hands, she looked up in the mirror and stared at her reflection. She looked normal. A little tired perhaps, the bags under her eyes more prominent than what they used to be, though that in itself seemed to be becoming normal as well. But otherwise, aside from her exceptionally messy hair, she looked perfectly ordinary.

Slowly, carefully, she raised her hands to the zipper on her sweater. Pausing when they made contact with the cold steel tab, she took a deep breath and began to pull it down.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes brimmed with tears. She scrunched them closed as a strangled sob erupted from her throat. She jammed her mouth into the inner corner of her elbow, refusing to make another noise as she shook faintly on the spot. The fingers on her opposite hand clutched the edge of the cool porcelain sink tightly.

It was hideous. She was hideous.

She stifled two more gasping sobs and forced herself to look in the full-length mirror. Sweater hanging open, she dropped it from her shoulders to fully reveal the three jagged scars. Three horrendous and violent markings – markings that would be a part of her forever. Somehow looking at them made them ache even more. She clamped her eyes shut once more and tilted her head back toward the ceiling.

It’s okay. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, she chanted in her head like a mantra. It doesn’t matter. It’s okay. It doesn’t matter. It’s just your skin. It’s not you. She took a breath as she rocked on the borderline of hyperventilation. It’s just the outside. It’s okay. It doesn’t matter. You’re okay. You’re lucky. They don’t matter. You’re okay.

She believed the words that ran through her mind. She really did. She truly believed that the scars didn’t matter and that appearances didn’t matter. She’d never cared about that. This wasn’t any different. But a small part of her lamented over her newly mangled form, and she desperately wanted to take that part of herself and bury it. She knew that it would take time, just time, that’s all.  

I’ll be okay. This is fine. YOU ARE FINE, she thought firmly, wiping her arm across her eyes and smearing the tears that had been leaking from her betraying body.

She turned around promptly, turned on the shower and shimmied out of her sweats – avoiding bending over completely before stepping into the stall.

Hermione stayed in the bathroom for a long time, taking care to clean every single part of her and wash her hair thoroughly. She touched the scars on her chest only briefly, her hand jutting away at the feel of the rough unfamiliar skin – she needed more time to accept what had happened. She would get familiar with them later when they didn’t make her want to vomit.

Harry had lingered by the bathroom door briefly after Hermione had gone inside; he was hesitant to leave her alone. He was worried about her, worried about how she would react when she saw the scars – but he knew that this was deeply personal. This was something that she needed to see and deal with on her own. She would want to be alone to see them the first time, and he suspected she would likely hide them going forward. While Harry didn’t think appearances were the most important thing in the world – and he knew that Hermione believed this to her core – he worried that she would still be ashamed of them. Insecure with her new and permanent appearance. Harry could only hope that she knew how beautiful she truly was.

He wandered slowly back to the kitchen and started to prepare food for dinner. His hands stopped moving, and his whole body flinched when he heard her first stifled sob. A chill ran down his spine and he closed his eyes tightly, tilting his head back and up to the ceiling. His heart ached for her and he found himself standing with tightly clenched fists. Taking a breath, he forced himself to continue.

-x-x-

Hermione exited the bathroom sometime later, wearing a loose-fitting dark green, long-sleeve shirt, a yellow hair tie around her wrist and a pair of charcoal sweatpants. Then she slowly made her way toward the kitchen table, her green knitted socks padded softly on the floor. Harry walked around to help her sit at the table, and she quickly started eating the food he had prepared – a plate of sandwiches, a bowl of fresh fruit, rolls, hot tea (freshly reheated), and a glass of water. She thanked him – blushing as she proceeded to eat twice the normal amount she typically would.

Over dinner, Harry told her about where he landed and how he had found her. He skipped over the gory details of her wellbeing upon being discovered and assured her that he had managed to heal his wounds. He’d healed his own ribs, using episkey, since they were only mildly cracked. He’d had a few small cuts from the debris of the explosion Hermione had cast but those he healed as well. Hermione insisted that he show her and let her check him over once for any other missed injuries. He complied easily, not taking it as an insult to his abilities and instead understanding that it was just her obsessive concern over making sure that everyone else was okay. 

After she had confirmed that his ribs were indeed healed – Harry barking out a laugh and pulling away when she prodded him gently – she accepted that Harry was truly ‘okay’.

Reaching forward, Hermione grabbed for her third roll of the night, and the sleeve of her dark green shirt pulled up, revealing the yellow hair tie around her wrist. Her hand froze, and she stared at it – a sick feeling of something familiar creeping over her. Her brain started to flip through her memories like an old photo reel, faster and faster as it tried to hone in on something. She didn’t hear Harry say her name with question, as he looked at her frozen extended arm and wide eyes with concern. Then it hit her, like a flood – she saw the werewolf, the moonlight, the glowing yellow eyes. She watched as it raised its clawed arm up toward her, and then she saw the glint of a thick, gold metal band around its wrist.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, her eyes darting toward him as her heart started to race. “Harry the werewolf!”

Her mind was reeling as it tried to process her revelation and Harry looked at her concerned.

“Yes, there was a werewolf, Hermione,” he said slowly, watching her face.

“No, no, I know – Harry.” She rolled her eyes, withdrawing her hand and holding her wrist up for him to see. “I know there was a werewolf – I didn’t hit my head that hard – I just remembered the band.”

She shook her wrist at Harry, her eyes wide, and Harry looked at her dumbfounded.

“The werewolf had a BAND, Harry!” she said, pointing to the hair tie that was still on her wrist. “I remember the attack, I remember what happened – but I forgot that it had a band. I saw it – only I’d forgotten until just now when I saw my hair tie, and it reminded me. Harry! The werewolf had a thick gold band on its wrist!”

“Okay – I believe you,” he said, confusion scrunching on his face. “But why would a werewolf have a gold band on its wrist? Could it have been from before it transformed?”

“It’s highly unlikely,” she said, sitting up straighter and putting her palms flat on the table. “Typically, lycanthropes are a bit larger when in wolf form. I doubt a person would wear a solid gold band that large day to day. It would be impractical. It would be too big and fall off. It must have been put on after.”

“Hermione,” he said slowly, his hands also planted on the table now. “Werewolves aren’t exactly tame, and they don’t think like humans in their wolf form. I doubt that it would have put it on itself; that doesn’t make any sense. But you can’t exactly approach a werewolf and put a band on it.”

“I know!” she exclaimed. “I – I don’t know what this means. Someone must have banded it. The question, though, is why? Why band a werewolf, and how did they manage to do it?”

Harry shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t even notice the band; I was so busy jumping all over the place and watching its mouth. “it’s like This is like first year all over again with that trap door. I believe you, Hermione – but – are you sure. You’re sure that you saw the band?”

Hermione nodded firmly, her eyes deadly serious.

“I’m sure, Harry. Positive. I’d bet my magic.”

Harry nodded, accepting her word with full faith.

“Okay,” he said. “Then it looks like we have another ridiculous mystery to try and work out.”

They continued eating and talking about the possible ways someone could have banded a werewolf and, more importantly, why in Merlin’s name would anyone want to do it.

Once the food was put away, Hermione started to get very sleepy, and so Harry helped her back to bed. Tucked in and propped gently against the pillow, Harry pulled his chair back over and sat next to her. They talked quietly until Hermione’s eyes began to droop more and more.

“You should sleep,” he said finally, a soft expression on his face.

“Mmm,” she replied softly. “I will.”

She stared at him sleepily, a thought forming in her eyes when they lazed over to the book that sat on the stand by her bunk, the same book that had been on Harry’s lap that morning. A sleepy smile formed on her lips, and she quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Harry,” she said, eyeing him again. “Were you reading to me before I woke up?”

Harry’s cheeks tinted the slightest shade of pink. 

“Yes,” he said unsurely. “I um – I thought you might like it. That – maybe it would help you sleep well.”

Hermione’s grin split into a full smile, and she reached for his hand, he let her take it, and she gripped it softly.

“Thank you, Harry,” she said as her eyes closed as her breathing became deeper. “Thank you, for everything Harry.”

Harry gripped her hand softly, knowing she had already fallen asleep.

“Always Hermione,” he said softly before pulling the sheet up tighter to her shoulders.

-x-x-

The next two weeks went by slowly. Every morning Hermione woke to Harry sitting in his chair reading softly next to her. He helped her from bed – mornings were always the worst, and the stiffness across her chest made it difficult for her to pull herself from bed – and then they would eat breakfast together. They spent their mornings reading, discussing theories around Horcruxes and the banded werewolf, and Hermione taught Harry helpful facts and spells. After lunch, they would spend two hours walking around the tent – or outside if the weather was good – and completing several small muggle exercises and stretches to assist Hermione’s body with adjusting to the newly healed muscles. Dinner usually involved Harry asking Hermione questions and him designing a list of all the things he wanted to learn and developing a training regime. In the evenings, they would sit together, inside or out, and have tea – usually quietly discussing their plans going forward.

Hermione helped Harry with the food and the chores the best she could, and they both agreed that she would not be able to apparate for some time, that it was best not to push things too quickly and that given how far south she’d taken them they should be okay not to move for two weeks. Harry re-set the wards every twelve hours instead of their original 24-hour cycle, and they added a detection charm 300 feet out to alert them of anything entering or leaving the tent circumference. They planned to walk several miles south at the end of the second week and set up a new campsite along the coast.

As the two weeks progressed and the 9th of October approached, Hermione couldn’t help but feel like the dynamic between the two of them had shifted. She’d always been immensely close to Harry – they got along and worked well together, they mutually respected each other, they understood each other’s muggle upbringings, and they were able to have a discussion without bickering. Harry never made fun of her for being a ‘ bookworm ’, and he could keep up in their conversations and hold his own.

But something, something had changed. 

It was small and gradual, and she almost didn’t notice it. The night before the day they were going to travel further south, her mind finally clicked on what it was. Harry had handed her a tea; it was their evening routine, and he proceeded to sit down next to her on a small rock in the tall grass so that they could look out at the sea. The night was calm, the waves were gentle, and the atmosphere was comfortable. What was different – Hermione’s brain noted – was how close Harry sat down next to her. It wasn’t invasive or uncomfortable. She didn’t want him to move. It was just closer than where he would have sat three weeks ago.

Everything in their movements and behaviours had started to become closer over the last three weeks. Harry would sit on the edge of her bed in the mornings now instead of his chair. Hermione would lay her legs across Harry’s to share the footstool when they read together on the couch in the mornings. Harry would place a gentle hand on her lower back if he was walking around her, and Hermione would catch herself reaching out to grab his hand or place her hand on his knee more and more often when they were talking.  

She smiled at him over her hot mug while he talked about a new spell he’d discovered in one of her books – one of the books she’d borrowed from the restricted section. The spell was old and unknown to most wizards as it was very difficult to cast, required complicated wand movements and was largely abandoned due to its double-edged nature. The spell was an old protection charm, one that produced a shield that completely encompassed one’s body and would move with the caster’s movements. 

If desired, the spell could even be cast on another human being or creature. The problem was that if cast incorrectly, or if cast without the utmost sincerity, the charm would produce a bubble that encompassed the caster or target but that caused harm until it dissipated.

His expression was animated, his hands showing her the wand motion the thought was required, clearly very excited to try out the new spell. She was unsure exactly what had shifted between them – whether it was just a temporary and natural shift post werewolf attack or if there was something more, something deeper that would require time to announce itself. She didn’t know what it meant, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it.

What she did know with certainty, though, was that the last three weeks had been downright terrible, this war was only going to get worse with each passing day, and that these last three weeks had cemented the fact that she never wanted to lose him. She couldn’t imagine a life without Harry in it in some fashion. She needed him to be here. She knew that despite the ambiguity attached to this new change, deep, deep down in the parts of her that she often ignored – she knew that something about it felt right. It felt natural.

-x-x-

When the morning of October 9th rolled around, Harry and Hermione got up early, prepared for a long day of walking ahead of them. The day started off well. Hermione was able to successfully pull herself from bed with no assistance. Harry laughed at her when she cheered and did a little victory wiggle, but then promptly joined in and spun her in a twirl. They both laughed and sang ‘ I got out of bed myseeeeeelf! I got out of bed myseeeeeeelf!’ and twisted in a circle together a few times – one of Hermione’s hands clutched in Harry’s, the other on his shoulder while Harry’s free hand rested lightly on the small of her back. She leaned in and hugged him tightly before rocking back to her heels and grinning widely at him. Dropping her hands, she asked him what he wanted for breakfast and headed toward the kitchen.

They ate breakfast quickly and put away the tent, having done most of the packing the day before. By 9:30 am, they were already walking slow, steady steps to the south, along the coast, with a goal of walking 18 miles – but realistically, hoping to get to at least 12. They were both rather pleased when they made it 15 miles before Hermione groaned out that she needed to stop for the day and couldn’t move another step.

The day had been long and rough, with only short breaks to eat and drink. Harry could tell that Hermione was frustrated with her lack of physical stamina and the toll that the werewolf wounds had taken on her body. He knew she was struggling, and he stood next to her and gently rubbed circles on her back, reminding her that it was only temporary and that soon, very soon, she would be back to her full strength, if not stronger.

Hermione had leaned into his hand and side, her head resting softly on his shoulder while she nodded to his words – knowing that they were true. When she stepped away to pull the tent from her bag, Harry was left feeling like his mind was both simultaneously blank and perplexed. He watched her shoulders move fluidly as she began to set up the tent.

He’d always considered Hermione to be his absolute closest friend. He’d never tell that to Ron – because he knew that it would devastate him, but it was true. He and Ron were close, sure, but they were close in a different way. Ron was like the brother that Harry never had, he loved him unconditionally, but sometimes he just wanted to punch the ever-loving shit out of him. He was a good guy who had a good heart – but Harry was never able to talk to Ron the same way he could Hermione. And frankly, Ron had a bit of a record for being a dick and flaking off when Harry needed him. 

The Triwizard tournament being a prime example. Why the actual fuck Ron would have thought Harry had entered his own name into the cup still boggled Harry’s mind. He knew it was some unresolved self-esteem issue or something, but still, what the hell. Who does that ?

Hermione, on the other hand, was something different. Something more. Harry needed her. Not in the sense that he used her or that he needed something from her. No – it wasn’t like that. Harry couldn’t help but feel like he needed her a lot more like how he needed water or how he needed air. Three weeks ago, he never would have been able to imagine life without her in it, but frankly, he hadn’t even thought about that then. Hermione was always just there, and he took it for granted. Today – today he would do anything, anything, to keep her safe, and he actively thought about her presence.

Hermione had always been there for him, she’d always supported him unconditionally, and she’d always believed in him – even when he wasn’t confident in himself. Hermione had always been very important to Harry and undeniably his closest friend.

But as he watched her shoulders roll, her arms move, and her hand flick her hair out of the way to continue raising the tent, he couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling in his gut that something had changed between them. It was in their interactions, in their conversations. It was subtle; he wasn’t sure if she was even aware of it, and he hadn’t sorted out what it meant yet. All he knew was that he cared deeply for Hermione – more deeply than he initially realized – and… that he liked the feeling.

Once the tent was set up, they ate a quick dinner, flopped into armchairs and rested the remainder of the evening before they both went to bed early. They were exhausted from their walk and knew that they needed their rest if they wanted to start implementing the new training regime that Harry had drafted out. In addition to wanting to learn new offensive, defensive, and healing spells, Harry had decided that he wanted to add some physical training to the bucket for good measure. Hermione had agreed, thinking it was a very clever and logical idea and decided to join in on his schedule. 

That night they both climbed sleepily into their bunks, saying good night softly with a wave of their hand before closing their eyes – each of them pondering the shift in their relationship. Each of them thinking the other had yet to notice it. Each of them reflecting on how they liked the change. Each of them wondering, what it could mean.

Now that Hermione was able to move competently around on her own, albeit a bit slower, they resumed their usual schedule of night watches in four-hour chunks and decided to stay at the new location for just a few days before continuing further south. They both agreed that it would be best to move again sooner than later to put additional distance between them and their first campsite post werewolf attack.

Over the next four days, they got up early, had a quick snack, then ran several large circles around the tent at a slow jog. Harry was able to lap Hermione twice due to her slow speed, and she swatted at him in frustration each time, yelling at him that it didn’t count because he hadn’t been recently shredded by a werewolf. Harry laughed at her and pinched her sides lightly as he ran past, yelling in return that she was just upset because she was naturally slower . After completing their jogging loops, they did several sets of sit-ups, pushups and lunges to finish off the routine. Hermione did far fewer than Harry but was still proud of herself for struggling through the routine.

On the third day, tired and sweaty but very pleased with themselves, they laid in the grass in front of the tent listening to the waves crashing against the rocky shore.

“One of these days,” Hermione said in pants. “I’m going to outrun you – just you wait.”

Harry laughed outright; his booming chuckle was genuine and loud. He reached his right arm over to her and gently grabbed her thigh, shaking it slightly.

“Not with these little chicken legs, you’re not.” He laughed as she swatted his chest with an indignant sound. “Besides, I have infinitely more experience running than you do – I spent years running from Dudley and his gang. You’ve got nothing on me.”

Hermione laughed with a smile and rolled to her side, propping herself up on her elbow and grimacing as the wounds on her chest ached from the movement, but she bit it down to look over at Harry. She looked at his face; it was flushed red from their workout, but he was relaxed and calm – and he was looking at her with a hint of mischievous amusement in his eyes.

“Your cousin was a bit of an ass, wasn’t he?” she said, keeping her tone light as her free hand-picked at a piece of grass in the small space between them, but the undertones of a question were present.

Harry snorted lightly.

“Probably a bit of an understatement actually,” he said with a sigh, his eyes going to the sky. “He was a complete ass, terrible really – though, I’m not even sure I still resent him for it. I used to – but – he just didn’t know any better. He was a product of what his parents taught him and – I don’t know. It just was what it was.”

Hermione studied his face for a while as Harry watched a particularly fluffy cloud float by, noting how he seemed a little lost in thought now.

“That’s um–” She paused when his eyes glanced back over to meet hers. “That’s a very mature way to look at it. You never really talked about the Dursleys very much, but from the small amount you have it’s quite clear it wasn’t a good situation. I just always assumed you hated them.”

“Well,” he said, letting out a slow sigh. “There wasn’t much to say – they were awful. But I guess I just got really tired of being so angry about it and resenting it all the time.”

He paused, the glint in his eyes deepening into something different – something more mature, more worn, and something rooted in sadness.

“I’m not sure I have it in me to hate them anymore,” he said slowly as if saying it out loud made it a new realization for him. “I don’t like them. They’re not good people – but, after losing Sirius and now Dumbledore – I – I just don’t have the energy to hate people who are just too ignorant to know better, or who didn’t want to know better. It’s just not worth it. They don’t deserve my time, so I’m not going to give it to them. I won’t waste my time on hating them.”

Hermione looked at Harry, slightly stunned. While she completely agreed with what he was saying and was actually immensely impressed and proud of him for having such a mature point of view, she was surprised. The Dursleys had been horrible to Harry, treated him like how some wizards treat their house-elves, and she was sure that Harry had held back some of the more dark and disturbing stories. She just hadn’t realized how much Harry had grown, how much losing Sirius and Dumbledore had affected him. She knew it took its toll physically and emotionally on him. She’d seen it first-hand, but she hadn’t seen the effect it had on his maturity and the way he looked at the world.

She reached out the hand that was currently clutching the grass between them to grab his wrist, and she gave him a squeeze.

“I know it doesn’t mean much coming from me, Harry,” she said softly. “But I’m sorry – I’m sorry the Dursleys were so horrible to you. And – I’m proud of you for choosing to see it the way you do. It’s so much easier to hate, Harry. So – I – I guess I just want you to know that I think it’s really great that you’re choosing to be the bigger person. To be better than what the Dursleys deserve and that you’re not going to waste your energy on stupid ignorant people.”

Harry smiled and let out a breath, his expression lightening. He flipped his hand over and intertwined their fingers before he pulled her hand up onto the center of his chest and pressed it to him.

“Thanks, Hermione,” he said sincerely, before a moment later his eyes glinted back to their original mischievous amusement. “But you’re just pumping my ego because you hope I’ll let you win the race tomorrow.”

Hermione made to pull her hand away to swat him, but he held his grip tight as he laughed at her annoyed expression.

“I am not!” she exclaimed, struggling to get her hand free while he continued to chuckle. “I would never – here I am being sincere, trying to tell you that I’m bloody proud of you. And you think I’m playing at something – and it’s not a race! It’s supposed to be exercise!”

Harry laughed louder at her fragmented response and let go of her hand, rolling away quickly to miss the swat she made at him.

“I’m going to shower first,” he said with a wink as he pulled himself quickly from the ground.

Hermione let out a sound of frustration and rolled back to look up at the sky.

“You’re a git, Harry!” she yelled back at him, hearing him laugh in response as he entered the tent.

But as she lay on the grass looking at the clouds, she couldn’t help but smile. Sighing contently, she folded her arms behind her head as the ocean breeze rustled her hair. She was so proud of Harry and so impressed with his growth as a person – how he was truly maturing into a man, a man who knew where to focus his priorities and what things were actually important. Despite his teasing, she knew Harry was sincere in his thanks, and she was happy that he felt comfortable enough to share his thoughts with her. She pulled her right hand up to her chest, the one that Harry had held against his own a moment ago and hummed softly.

After taking their turns in the shower, they had breakfast and continued with their typical daily routine of reading, practicing small healing spells, discussing, planning, and thinking – occasionally taking out Phineas to see if he was willing to give them any news.

By the end of the fourth day, Hermione was feeling very pleased with her physical progress, and they agreed to try and walk 21 miles south the next morning to set up a new camp. 

After pre-packing their belongings, they sat quietly outside near the edge of a small cliff that dropped down to the water. Harry had conjured a small fire in the jar that sat between them for warmth, using the spell Hermione taught him two days prior. They both stared out to the dark, starry sky that hung above the roughly moving waves. The wind was picking up, and with it, the chill from the north was rolling in. It felt ominous and hinted of a storm in the near future. They sat quietly for quite some time before Harry spoke.

“On the nights when I wasn’t shut in my cupboard early, I used to lay out in the back garden at the Dursley’s in the summer and look at the stars as a kid,” Harry said, his eyes still on the sky. “And wish that someone would come and take me away from them.”

Hermione’s heart thudded to a stop in her chest, and it took all of her self-control not to turn her head sharply toward Harry and exclaim, you slept in a cupboard!? But she bit her lip, took a quiet breath and instead just tilted her head a fraction toward him to see his face. The way Harry had spoken and the expression on his face brought a stillness and a seriousness to the night’s air. Harry never spoke much about the Dursleys in the past, she only knew small details, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Harry’s childhood had been rough. Though, she certainly didn’t know that he had slept in a cupboard. She tried to wrap her mind around this new piece of information, trying to imagine exactly what that had been like. She waited for him to continue, knowing that this was Harry choosing to share some very dark and very intimate details of his life before Hogwarts with her – details that he probably hadn’t shared with anyone.

“After the letters for Hogwarts started showing up, they gave me Dudley’s second bedroom. The letters had been addressed to my cupboard, so I think they were pretty embarrassed,” he clarified, as if he wanted her to know that his situation did improve at the Dursleys before he continued on to what he wanted to say. “But after finding out I was going to Hogwarts, I was so happy. So happy that I finally would be able to leave them – to have a different life. Then when I met you and Ron, you two were the first friends I had ever had.”

He picked up a small rock that was next to him, turning it over in his hand before throwing it gently out into the water. She wasn’t able to see it drop, as the darkness had crept in to the point that the ocean was just a pool of black, and only the white caps were still visible.

“And then I met more people, and then I had Sirius.” He paused, his face scrunching, and when he spoke next, she heard the slight break in his voice. “But after losing Sirius, after Cedric, after what Umbridge did to everyone, after Ron was almost poisoned and after Dumbledore – I – I’m so afraid that I’m going to lose everyone. It’s like the people I let myself get close to always suffer. They always get hurt. You with the werewolf – not to mention all the other ridiculous situations I’ve dragged you into.”

He had grabbed her hand, the one that was resting in between them in the grass and was squeezing it tightly. She wasn’t sure he even realized he’d done it.

“And I just – I know you’ll say this is ridiculous – but I feel like it’s my fault, because it is. I’m responsible for this – and the worst part,” he said, his voice straining as he looked at her intently, and Hermione saw the guilt that clung deeply within him.

“I’m still so happy that Hagrid came to give me my letter that day. I – I wouldn’t want to change that.” His voice quieted before he continued, and she heard the pain in his voice. “Is that selfish? Does that make me a terrible person?”

His eyes searched her face. Looking for an answer and she felt her heart break for him. Harry – poor Harry. His life was riddled with despair and contained more sadness and more anguish than most people would ever experience in their whole lifetime – and he wasn’t even eighteen yet.

It was like his words stitched together the painful picture of his life and made all of his behaviours, words, and actions make sense. It gave the last seven years new meaning. His deep and protective love of his friends – because he’d never had any. His drive to do what’s right – because he’d been wronged and treated poorly in his own life. His wonder of the magical wizarding world – because he’d been deprived in his childhood. His surprise when people included him or wanted to be near him – because he’d been rejected and excluded up until Hogwarts. His frustration, moody attitude, and attempt to disconnect from those around him in the last two years – because he blamed himself for the deaths of those around him. He blamed himself for Cedric, for Sirius, for Dumbledore… so he had forced space and tried to alienate himself because he felt responsible. Because he felt guilty. Because he didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. And he had locked it all away inside himself, dealing with his anguish alone.

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered, her voice tight, gripping his hand back firmly. “Harry, no – no, no, it doesn’t make you selfish! These things – what’s happening – it was going to happen whether you came back to the wizarding world or not. And if you hadn’t – we would have been so much worse off – we would have lost so much more.”

She took his hand in both of hers and leaned toward him.

“Harry, I know you blame yourself, I know you feel responsible, and I know you probably won’t fully believe what I’m saying – but what’s happened isn’t your fault Harry. You’re a symbol of hope for people, and you’ve done so, so much. You’ve saved people’s lives. You prevented You Know Who from coming back several times.” Harry turned his face away scowling slightly and looking back out at the water. “I can’t even begin to understand what you’ve been through, Harry, how you feel – how much pressure you must be under – but–“

She paused and reached her left hand forward to rest on his cheek, pulling gently, and he allowed his head to turn back toward her. His eyes were bright in the small light from their blue flame.

“It’s not up to you to save the world alone,” she said quietly, running her thumb over the bone of his cheek. “I don’t care what some stupid prophecy says. I’m going to help you. Everyone in the Order is going to help you.”

She looked at him, trying to convey her sincerity to him, trying to make him understand that she meant what she said. That she wouldn’t abandon him.

“You don’t have to believe it, Harry,” she said just above a whisper. “I just want you to know it. You and I – we’re in this together. I’m not going to leave you alone in this – not ever.”

Harry closed his eyes and breathed out, a line of tension in his forehead easing slightly, but his shoulders were still tight. Then he opened his eyes to stare directly at her, they were glassy, and the air around them was heavy.

“I know you won’t,” he said quietly and he raised his own hand to cover the one that she had placed on his cheek before turning his head toward it and placing a chaste kiss on her palm.

Her heart fluttered lightly, but she ignored it. Then he gripped her hand, lowering it to his lap and holding it tight.

“I know,” he said again before sighing deeply as his shoulders dropped. “It’s just – hard not to feel responsible. I always will.”

She gave him a small smile, and he returned it.

“Thank you for listening, Hermione,” he said softly.

“Always, Harry.” She squeezed his hand stight – still holding the one on the ground she had been previously and the second in his lap where he’d placed it.

They sat for a while in silence, both hands still intertwined. Hermione looked out at the stars once more. The warmth of the blue flame warmed the space between them, and despite the rolling waves, the cliff felt quiet, and the air around them felt thicker than it had a few minutes ago.

Hermione could feel Harry staring at her, and it made her feel nervous – not uncomfortable – and not the normal typical nervous feelings she was familiar with. It was like a small ball of buzzing energy in her chest that tickled at her insides. Like she was a kid again and had gotten butterflies.

Taking a quiet breath, she slowly turned her head to look at Harry. Their eyes met, and he held her gaze for several heartbeats before he tilted his head a fraction to the side. He was looking at her with almost a sort of curiosity.

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” he said gently, still holding her gaze.

Hermione felt her cheeks flush at the expression on his face and parted her mouth to respond, but then closed it. She didn’t know what to say. It hadn’t been a question, it was a statement, and the way he said it made the butterflies in her stomach buzz more noticeably. It was his eyes, something in his eyes that was pulling at her chest.

“We should turn in,” he said quietly, just above a whisper.

She nodded in return, but they both continued to sit, gripping hands and watching each other’s eyes, tracing each other’s faces in the flicker of the light as the ocean rolled on and the stars danced above them.

Hermione felt her stomach twist, but not from pain, not from nausea, not from the anguishing emotions and feelings that had recently been ruling her body. It was something different – something tight and warm. A nervousness rolled through her, and she felt her chest tighten. Time felt like it had slowed down, and they’d slipped into a world of slow motion. She didn’t know what to do, what to say, she felt like she was searching Harry’s face and he was searching hers in return, but neither of them had an answer for the intense atmosphere that had wrapped around them. The twisting feeling in her stomach was quickening and tightening, and she was afraid of what would happen if she didn’t move.

Abruptly she looked away, hoping that the darkness would hide the blush she knew claimed her face.

“Yeah, we should turn in,” she echoed, ignoring the slight waver in her voice as she dropped Harry’s hands and turned to get up from the ground.

Harry stood with her, helping her up by the elbow even though she didn’t need the assistance anymore. Once standing, Hermione realized how close they were; the heat from Harry’s body was radiating off of him, his hand was still on her elbow, her left side just a breath away from his. Eyes level with his chest, she raised her head to look up at him and felt her heart thump louder when she looked in his eyes.

He was looking at her with a look that she had not seen before – a deep, careful, longing, if not slightly confused look, as if he was seeing her for the first time.

Her brain wasn’t working, her brain always worked, it never shut up and it constantly analyzed – but staring up at his bright green eyes her breath caught in her throat, and she couldn’t function. Her right hand tightened around the hem of her shirt, rolling the fabric gently between her fingers as time seemingly slowed down even further.

Harry shifted, his head tilting ever so gently to the left, and he slowly, painstakingly, began to lower his head towards hers. Hermione stiffened, her heart thudded, and her fingers stilled on the edge of her shirt. She didn’t blink, she didn’t look away – she just watched as his face slowly lowered towards her until – he stopped. He stopped a mere inch away from her face, and she could feel his breath on her face. She wasn’t breathing. She’d stopped breathing the second he started lowering his head. Then, he turned his head and ghosted his lips gently across her cheek before placing a small but firm kiss on her cheek.

He lingered a moment before pulling away, and she was certain he could hear the drumming of her erratic heartbeat.

“Good night, Hermione,” he said in a whisper before letting go of her elbow and turning to walk slowly toward the tent.

Hermione stood on spot, unmoving. Her body was a furnace, her cheeks were blazing, her heart was thrumming, and her mind had all of a sudden started working again. 

What the fuck just happened , she breathed internally. Her mind was racing, trying to calculate what had just happened, what it meant, and why her body was reacting the way that it was. Why did she feel so flustered? She’d kissed Harry on the cheek in fourth year, and it had definitely NOT felt like this. She stayed rooted to her spot watching Harry’s back as he walked toward the tent. It was her turn for first watch tonight, but she stayed where she was instead of moving to her usual spot just a few feet from the tent.

A cool breeze from the ocean brushed past her face, and she shivered, stepping toward the warmth from the blue flames that flickered by her feet. After Harry disappeared into the tent, she slowly reached down to pick up the fire and move toward her watch station, her steps slow and thoughtful. She didn’t know what to make of what just happened or how it would affect her relationship with Harry going forward, and she particularly didn’t know what to make about how she’d reacted to it – about how, despite the nervousness, she’d liked it.

-x-x-

When Harry came out to take her place for the last shift of their night’s watch, he behaved normally; nothing between them was different. Hermione thanked him and gratefully went inside to grab a quick four hours of sleep.

The next morning, they ate breakfast in their usual fashion and looked at the map that Hermione had of the coastline. Then they agreed that they should try to get to a small cove about 21 miles to the south as the winds had picked up and threatened upcoming bad weather. Quickly they disassembled the tent and then began walking at a brisk pace, stopping twice for a quick break, snacks and water.

Eight and a half hours later, the wind was raging, the sky was dark, and the ocean was violent – but they’d reached their destination. Approaching the small cove, they spotted a highly set cave. It looked a little ominous, but thankfully, it was uninhabited, so they decided to set the tent up inside to get additional shelter from the storm. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Hermione saw a flash of lightning over the water. Harry looked at her knowingly and went out to set the wards, enchantments and alarms while Hermione finished setting up the tent. By the time Harry returned, it had started to spit, and Hermione was placing sticking charms on the tent pegs to ensure that they did not get ripped from the ground in the violent gusting winds that were rolling off the ocean.

Harry helped her with the last two pegs, and then they quickly got inside as the downpour hit, thankful for the extra shelter offered by the small cave. After eating a quick dinner, they both dropped exhausted into the armchairs in the center room. Hermione had been worried that the event from the night before would cause stress or add awkwardness to their dynamic – but it hadn’t. There was no tension in the room, and Harry was just Harry, his normal self. The only thing different was the thoughts that now filled Hermione’s head when she tried to sort out what it meant and how she felt about it. But seeing Harry’s calm relaxing demeanour put her at ease. That night they both agreed to sleep without needing to keep watch as Harry had added two alarm circles at 300 and 900 feet out from their tent – and given the storm, it was unlikely that anyone would be out and about.

Hermione made for her bunk, having just washed her face and brushed her teeth. Harry bid her goodnight, and she returned the gesture kindly before crawling into bed and rolling over to face the tent wall. The rain pounded outside, and the wind hammered the fabric of the tent loudly. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her mind, trying to steady the low simmering guilt that seemed to be building throughout the day. With everything that had been going on, sometimes it felt like she couldn’t keep track of everything and tonight, her brain finally circled in on the main reason for her unease with the previous night’s events .

Ginny.

Hermione couldn’t shake the guilt she harboured for the feelings that had been rolling through her. Yes, Harry and Ginny had broken up at the end of the previous school term – but Ginny was her friend, and she felt awful about whatever it was that had been going on between her and Harry. Even though, to be fair, nothing had actually happened between them, and she didn’t even know if the nothing that had happened meant anything – she still couldn’t help but feel guilty.

Despite her angst and unease of the situation at hand, sleep claimed her quickly, exhausted from the eight and a half hours walk during the day.

-x-x-

The next few days proceeded per their usual schedule, except that the weather was absolutely horrendous, and it limited them to their tent the majority of the time. They got creative with their exercise routine and jogged on spot in the tent, did jumping jacks, burpees, and stretches since they were not able to run outside.

Hermione taught Harry ferula , and anapneo so that he would be able to bandage or splint broken bones and prevent someone from choking.

Harry showed Hermione more details on the shielding charm, and she helped him refine his wand movements based on the description in the book. She agreed to help him try it after they spent a little more time researching it – nervous that they might cause themselves injury if they cast it incorrectly. Harry agreed and pulled another large textbook from her bag to continue his reading.

Hermione found an interesting chapter in her book on ‘bonding’ magic and was convinced it could be helpful with the werewolf mystery. She told Harry about it, telling him her suspicions – that someone may have banded the werewolf for ‘use’ and implemented some kind of a bonding mechanism. It was dark magic and may have even involved blood magic. Harry frowned at this but agreed and asked her to keep him updated on what she found as she continued her research.

Five days later, the weather hadn’t let up, the rain continued to pour, and the wind continued to ravage the area. After a particularly gruelling workout, both of them being a little tense from being trapped inside the tent for days had gone extra hard in their workout routine, Hermione was showering and pondering the still occurring small and somewhat intimate touches that happened between her and Harry. The water from the shower was hot, and it helped to work out the knots in her tight muscles.

Her hands ran over the scars on her chest, and she didn’t flinch. She’d finally gotten used to the touch of them against her fingers. She hated it, resented the unpleasantness of her now rough, bumpy, and hideously discoloured skin – but it no longer made her feel sick to her stomach. As she stepped from the shower and saw her full reflection, she reacted the same way that she did every time. She frowned. Then covered herself with a long sleeve high-necked shirt to hide any view of the scars. She was sad to admit that she’d transfigured a good number of her shirts to have a much higher neck. She never had revealing clothes to start with, but her top scar started just above her left collar bone – so anything other than a turtleneck or high-necked shirt showed the tip of the scar. This time she opted for her newly transfigured deep red sweater and a pair of comfortable jeans.

After trying to do something with her hair – which was essentially leaving it as is but using a small clip to keep it from falling in her face – she made her way out to the kitchen to find Harry seated at the kitchen table staring intently at the Marauder’s Map. Going over to join him at the table, she noticed that he was staring at the Gryffindor Tower, and particularly at Ginny’s name.

Hermione slowed as she approached and felt a small part of her sadden at the sight – as guilt hit her hard in the stomach. Trying to swallow it down, she made for the seat opposite Harry.

“Hey,” she said softly, taking her seat.

Harry jolted as he looked up at her. Obviously, he had been lost in thought and hadn’t heard her approach.

“Hey,” he said, more brightly than she expected. “Good shower?”

She snorted and smiled at him.

“Yeah, all clean now.” She looked down at the map and saw Ginny’s feet circling in the common room near Neville’s. “You, um – you must miss her.”

Her voice was quiet, and she tried to keep the tone light and unquestioning.

“Yeah, of course,” Harry said sadly as he looked back at the map. “I miss all of them – I hope they’re okay.”

“I know,” Hermione said slowly, making sure to keep her hands to herself and resisting the urge to reach out and grab his hand. “I’m sorry that you haven’t been able to see her.”

Her words were sincere. Hermione truly meant it. She truly felt awful that Harry and Ginny’s relationship was tainted by the ongoing situation with Voldemort and that it had ended so that Harry could go gallivanting around to try and save the world. They had seemed to get along really well, and it was just another reason why this war was absolute shit. It destroyed everything good and ripped people apart.

“So am I,” he said, raising his eyes to meet hers. “I know you must miss her too, and Neville, and Luna, and everyone else.”

Hermione’s mind started calculating again – Harry truly seemed sad that he was separated from Ginny, but it was not with the same feelings she had expected. He seemed equally sad to be away from everyone else, which was odd. Harry must have seen the confusion on her face, and he mirrored it only briefly until his own brain realized what she was confused about.

“Oh,” Harry said, almost somewhat sheepishly as a blush formed on his face, and he started to get awkward. “I forgot you didn’t – um, I miss her, yes – but um – Ginny and I – we uh – well we’re not together anymore.”

“Yeah,” Hermione said slowly as she looked at him with genuine curiosity but tried to seem nonchalant in her question. “But – I assumed you two were going to – you know – get back together when all of this was over.”

Harry shifted awkwardly in his seat; his eyes glanced nervously down to the map as if it could hear the conversation.

“Yeah,” Harry said slowly. “About that.”

Hermione sat up straighter at his response and quirked an eyebrow at his behaviour, completely thrown by the tone he had just emanated. She had thought that he still loved Ginny, that they would be together when the war was over – but based on Harry’s posture, tone, and uncomfortably awkward expressions, she felt like she was missing half of a story that she didn’t know existed.

Harry scratched the back of his head awkwardly while avoiding her eyes.

“It’s um, it’s not really my place to say,” he said, finally looking her in the eyes. “But – it’s not like that. We aren’t like that.”

Hermione shifted and propped her head up on her hand, crossing her legs under the table and tilting her head.

“Harry, I don’t understand,” she said. She wasn’t annoyed – just genuinely confused. “What do you mean it’s not your place?”

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair and then leaned on the table with both elbows before speaking.

“Look, I don’t think it’s a big deal, and I fully support it, but–” Harry looked at her intently. “But I need you to promise not to talk about this with anyone. It’s Ginny’s business, and she will tell people when she’s comfortable. It’s not my place to tell anyone, but I’ll tell you – only because I know that Ginny trusts you and she already told me why she hasn’t told you yet, but that she was planning to before we left, she just ran out of time.”

“Of course, I won’t say anything, Harry.” Hermione nodded, unsure of where this conversation was heading.

“Hermione – Ginny is gay,” he said, looking her straight in the eyes. “And our breakup was completely mutual.”

Hermione sat quiet, floored by what Harry had said – not because she gave a crap that Ginny was a lesbian, she didn’t care about that – but because she hadn’t known and that Ginny hadn’t told her. Obviously, Ginny didn’t owe her anything. She wasn’t obligated to explain herself to anyone. Hermione was just surprised.

“W-What?” she asked, her mouth had been hanging open. “I – I didn’t know.”

“I know,” Harry said sheepishly, giving her a small almost sympathetic smile. “She was nervous to tell you.”

“Why would she be nervous to tell me? You know that I support Ginny, that I support the LGBT community and gay rights and gay people – she knows that!”

“Yeah, she does.” Harry patted her hand gently before grabbing for his glass of water. “She was nervous because she didn’t want you to feel awkward around her. And because she’s been having a bit of a time adjusting to the realization herself.”

Harry then proceeded to tell Hermione what had actually happened in sixth year, how Harry, upon first kissing Ginny, had felt so proud and so excited. How Ginny had been so thrilled to finally be with the ‘ love of her life ’ and the one man she thought she was destined to be with. Except that after a few weeks of snogging and trying to feel comfortable with each other, they both started to realize that they weren’t.

Harry had assumed that he was attracted to Ginny because he had strong feelings for her. He thought that he was in love with Ginny because he cared for her deeply. But after a few weeks together, he started to realize that it felt awkward and wrong, and frankly – he wasn’t attracted to her in that way. Harry did care deeply for Ginny – and he always would – but the truth was that he cared for her like a sister. The same way that he cared for Ron and loved Fred and George, that was how he cared for Ginny. He was protective of her because she was his family – because she was his sister. He realized that he’d confused his love for her as romantic love and then started to worry about what to do next.

Ginny, well Ginny had admitted to him that she was never attracted to any men in the whole of her life. She was obsessed with Harry from a young age, and that obsession grew into an infatuation that she had assumed was romantic. She thought that the reason why she wasn’t attracted to Dean Thomas was because she was only in love with Harry. She thought that the reason why she didn’t feel anything when Dean kissed her or ran his hands over her body was that she didn’t actually care for Dean and was really only dating him to make Harry notice her.

But to her surprise, she found that nothing changed when she was with Harry. She cared about him and treasured him, and she wanted to feel the way you were supposed to feel when he kissed her. But she didn’t. Once the excitement of finally getting Harry wore off, she was left with the same empty feeling she’d had before.

After lamenting over it for weeks and getting some help from friends, Ginny finally realized that she was lesbian, and that was why she never felt like her relationships fit – why she was never interested in any of the guys around her. She confronted Harry about it, and Harry had confessed that he did not have romantic feelings for Ginny either. He had told her that he wanted her to be happy, and he wanted to remain her friend. They were both relieved to find that the other had been unsure about the relationship and felt awkward being together.

At Ginny’s request, Harry agreed to keep up the facade of dating while she sorted through her feelings. She was nervous about telling her family, about her friends finding out and was still trying to wrap her head around her new self-discovery. Breaking up before Harry left to go hunt for Horcruxes was easy and actually ended up being a good way to establish their breakup with friends and family without raising any eyebrows. Their plan had been that during Harry’s time away, Ginny would be able to re-establish herself as the woman she wanted to be, become comfortable with herself and start telling her family when and if she wanted to.

Harry finished talking and stared at Hermione, waiting for her to respond.

“Wow,” Hermione said softly, her eyes concerned. “I can’t even imagine what’s going through her head, realizing that, the war, worrying about telling people – oh Ginny.”

She shook her head and lowered it into both of her hands.

“She shouldn’t be worried about what people think; her friends and family will support her – but I know that’s easier to say than to be the person who’s experiencing it.” She looked up at Harry and fixed him with an amazed stare. “You’re a great person, Harry, to do what you did, to keep her trust and be there for her. I just hope Ginny knows that I wouldn’t ever feel awkward around her, that this would never change anything between us.”

She sighed, running a hand through her own hair.

“I’m so happy for her though,” she whispered as a genuine smile broke out across her lips. “I’m so glad that she’s realized her truth and she can be happy and find whoever it is that she truly loves – and that she didn’t get stuck in a relationship with a guy because that’s what she thought she should do or because she never realized her true feelings and why things didn’t feel right for her.”

She sat back, and Harry smiled at her.

“Me too,” he said sincerely. “She’s much happier now and has actually been sort of seeing someone since our breakup. I think that’s helped.”

“Well, I can’t wait to meet her.” Hermione beamed. “If and whenever she is ready to share. I won’t say a thing, Harry – I promise, I won’t say anything, and I will wait for her to feel comfortable enough to tell me herself.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said, and he got up to grab some snacks. “I know she won’t mind that I told you – she wanted to tell you after the wedding before we left so that you’d know. But given what happened and how we left – there wasn’t exactly time. I feel guilty telling you without her direct permission, though – I’ll be sure to tell her I told you when we see her next.”

Hermione smiled at him as he handed her an apple.

“You’re a good friend Harry.” She took a bite of the apple, munching it with a smile as she thought about her friend finally finding her happiness. It made her heart explode with joy.

“It wasn’t anything, Hermione.” He said, tossing his own apple up and catching it quickly. “She deserves to be happy, and I’m glad that she’s happy now, that she’s found the sense of belonging that she’d been missing.”

Hermione remembered the conversations she’d had with Ginny about Harry – how desperate Ginny was to get Harry’s attention, to be with him. It made sense – it really did. Her desperation was linked to her need for acceptance and her trying to find her place when she felt like she didn’t belong. Always being worried about why she wasn’t normal and worrying about why she wasn’t interested in the boys like female classmates were. Thinking that Harry was the solution, that the only reason why things didn’t feel right with Dean or why she wasn’t attracted to any other men was because she was only attracted to Harry.

Hermione slowly ate her apple, so happy that Ginny and Harry had handled their relationship well – so happy that Ginny was on route to true happiness, toward a relationship where she actually felt something and could feel like she belonged.

After finishing their snacks, they both settled down in the armchairs to read, and Hermione noticed that the guilt she’d been carrying about the dynamic between her and Harry had started to lift from her shoulders. She turned the page of her book to read further on the bonding magic she suspected someone had used to band the werewolf but stopped to eye Harry over the top of her book. His eyes were focused intently on the page in front of him, his hand resting in his messy hair while he read. She smiled, happy to be here with him – grateful to have him in her life. A slight blush dusted her cheeks when she recalled the closeness between them nights before, and her heartbeat increased. She looked back to her page. She was happy, and for the first time in a long time, optimistic.

Note: This chapter is technically not required in order to follow the main story that I am telling about Harry and Hermione – it is a flashback to 6th year, so you can skip it if you’d like to. That said, I think you should read it as it is important to the overall story.

[Background: I thought writing this chapter was important and added some depth and additional background to Harry and Ginny’s relationship. I hope to make this story more believable by showing Ginny’s experience – I didn’t want my story to be all ‘oh Ginny is conveniently just gay, so she’s out of the way’. I want it to be believable because I genuinely believe that this could have happened in canon. I wanted to give some substance to my basis and give some love to Ginny (who, honestly, I thought was a good character but was massively underdeveloped in canon). The pick-up point is page 499 in HBP.]

********************

Harry looked around; there was Ginny running towards him; she had a hard, blazing look in her face as she threw her arms around him. And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about he fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her.

Ginny’s heart exploded. Her mind was going a thousand miles a minute – Harry Potter had just kissed her. HARRY POTTER. The boy she had loved for so, so long. The only one she’d ever been interested in had finally seen her, and he had now wrapped his hands around her waist and was holding her closely.

When they broke apart, and she heard the whooping shouts of her peers in the common room around them, and she turned to see the confused look on her brother’s face. She smirked – the idiot had never clued in how she felt about Harry. He just assumed that she was infatuated with him in a harmless way. But when Ron tilted his head in acceptance to Harry, she beamed.

The creature in his chest roaring in triumph, Harry grinned down at Ginny and gestured wordlessly out the portrait hole.

Taking Harry’s hand, she led him out of the portrait hole and down to the school grounds. They spent the next several hours walking, talking, holding hands and snogging their faces off. Her heart was racing as the excitement coursed through her. She couldn’t believe that this was happening; it was surreal. Between winning the Quidditch match and now sitting on a bench and kissing the one man she knew she was meant to be with – it was a dream come true.

Harry was telling her about how he’d noticed her a little while ago, and he was tracing his fingers over the back of her hand. She smiled at him as she heard the words, in complete disbelief to find that he’d felt the same way as her for a while. She told him that Dean was just a way to get him to notice her and that she never really cared for him in that way – she admitted that she felt guilty about it.

When it was so dark that they could hardly see, they finally made their way up to the Gryffindor tower to head to bed – Harry kissing her gently but firmly before going to his own room. Ginny grinned beneath his lips. She was fairly certain that this was the happiest she had ever been.

That night when she laid in bed, her heart fluttered at the thought of having what she wanted, finally . Things were starting to look up, and for once, things were starting to make sense. Over the course of her time at Hogwarts, she had spent hours each week laying in this very bed wondering what was wrong with her. Growing up, she’d never had much interest in the boys around her – mostly because she thought that they were all stupid and annoying – but she just didn’t understand why all her female friends found them so interesting.

She loved having boys as friends. They were funny, energetic, and far more fun to play with than several of the girls that her mother had introduced her to as a kid. Except perhaps for Rosa, Ginny had always liked Rosa very much. She was kind, thoughtful, beautiful, and caring – but otherwise speaking, she’d preferred having boys for friends, and she never found them attractive in any other way.

When she met Harry Potter, she’d been star-struck. He was a legend, and Ginny was positively fascinated by him. She’d read everything that she could about him and asked her mum a bunch of questions. The idea of knowing him or being friends with him was a dream. So, when she found out that her brother Ron had somehow managed to make friends with Harry she was beyond excited.

Once she arrived at Hogwarts, nothing changed. She still didn’t find the boys overly interesting, except to hang out with them or get up to no good with them around the castle – she always felt awkward sitting on her dormitory bed while the girls she stayed with in the dormitory talked about who was cute. When asked by Maisey, a petite and pretty blonde girl she shared her dorm with, who she liked, Ginny had panicked and blurted out Harry’s name. The girls accepted her answer and then cooed over how handsome he was and how pretty his eyes were. Ginny supposed that she agreed with them – he did have nice eyes. It was after that that Ginny started to think of her interest in Harry as romantic. It made sense, didn’t it? That would explain why she was so interested in him after all, right?

So, over the next couple of years, she focused on all the qualities and things about Harry’s appearance and personality that she liked and started to subconsciously associate them with liking him. As time went on, though, Harry didn’t seem to pay her any mind. She was just Ron’s little sister. It made her nervous around him, and she started to get worried that she would never be able to have the type of relationship that her dormmates often talked of – that she might not ever get to be with the one boy she was destined to be with. The only boy she’d ever felt anything for. She confided in Hermione in her fourth year, looking for guidance and hoping that she might be able to give her some kind of insight as to what to do. Despite Hermione being annoyingly proper and an absolute bore at times with her book references – she was a brilliant witch, and Ginny appreciated her feedback. Hermione had told her to relax, to just be herself, and that Harry would notice her once she was more comfortable around him. She suggested that she try dating other people and just become comfortable with herself while she waited.

Ginny did just that. She forced herself to calm down around Harry and just be herself. She forced herself not to stress over the fact that she felt like she would be royally fucked if Harry never noticed her, doomed to be alone forever. And she tried dating other people to help appear more normal and calm, and like she wasn’t hanging her entire future on Harry’s acceptance.

Dating Dean had been excruciating, though, and to be honest, she felt a decent amount of guilt for doing it. He was an okay kisser, she guessed. But every time he leaned in to kiss her, her stomach knotted – and not in the romantic, exciting way that Maisey had described she felt when she kissed her boyfriend. Snogging Dean made her feel uneasy. It made her anxious, and it made her feel slightly dirty like she was doing something wrong – doing something she knew that she didn’t really want to do. 

Dean was nice and funny, and a good person – Ginny did like him. She just didn’t find him attractive in that way and didn’t want him to touch her. His hands on her body just made her uncomfortable, and she did not see the appeal of his clumsy fingers coping a feel of her breasts.

In their make-out sessions, she often felt her mind wandering to other things. Thinking about Harry, about Dumbledore’s army, about a new spell she wanted to try – the snogging was boring and unexciting, and when she crawled into bed each night, she felt a bit sick with herself. Like something wasn’t right, and her body was rejecting the contact. The only thing that gave her any semblance of calm was thinking about how if Harry ever did notice her, things would be different. She’d feel the heat that Maisey described, the tightening in your stomach and the sense of urgency that made you want to snog your boyfriend’s face off for hours.

She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. Things were good now, and they would be good. Ginny finally had Harry – she was finally with the only person she liked. She would be normal now; she’d be able to fit in with the rest of her friends and finally feel that thrill of excitement that they often talked about. The sick and wrong feelings would go away, and she would be engaged, present, and wanting. Turning over, Ginny went to bed, excited for the new day.

-x-x-

Over the next few days, the excitement continued. People were talking and gossiping about them. Ginny was with Harry every moment she could be, and the two of them were happy. They laughed about the gossip, Ginny found it outrageous that somehow, they were more interesting than the dementor attacks that were ongoing, and she smirked any time Ron looked awkward or uncomfortable with them together. Serves him right after all the disgusting snogging he’d been up to with Lavender, she thought. Her opinion doubled over by the fact that he was a moron not to notice how it upset Hermione.

One afternoon when she went to go meet Harry outside for a walk, she bumped into Susan Bones – literally – and Susan’s books fell to the floor.

“Oh shit,” Ginny said as she quickly bent over to help her pick up the books. “I’m so sorry, Susan. I wasn’t even paying attention.”

Susan smiled back at her as she collected a few papers that had come loose from the pages of a book she had been carrying.

“That’s okay, Ginny,” she said, smiling genuinely. “I haven’t seen you in a while – it’s not like the Dumbledore’s Army days anymore. How have you been?”

“I’ve been well.” Ginny grinned. She had always liked Susan, she was very kind, pretty, and had a laugh like music. “How about you? Are you still keeping up with your defence practice?”

“Yeah, I am!” Susan grabbed the last paper and slowly started to stand up. “I actually practice sometimes with some of my dormmates or Luna. But otherwise, I’ve mostly been trying to prepare for end of term – I know it’s early – but I’ve always struggled with exams, so this year I want to be prepared.”

“That makes all of these books make sense then,” Ginny said with a cheeky grin.

Ginny looked Susan up and down, now standing just an inch or two taller than her; the change in Susan was incredible. Though a year older than Ginny, she’d met Susan through Hermione. Susan had always been a very insecure and shy girl – Ginny had noticed it almost immediately when she met her in her first year. As the years went on, Susan grew taller and started to come out of her shell. It turned out she was a very caring person, and she had a good sense of humour that Ginny always appreciated. 

After joining Dumbledore’s Army in her fifth year, Susan had really come into her own. No longer harbouring the baby fat in her cheeks that she used to back in second year, Susan had grown out of her awkward duck footedness into a lean girl with bright honey-coloured eyes and wavy strawberry blonde hair that always seemed to shine in the sunlight. She stood with poise and confidence she never used to have and seemed much more confident in herself than most of the other girls her age.

Susan looked at Ginny, a small and curious smile forming at the corner of her lips.

“I uh – I heard you and Harry are dating now.” Her voice had quirked up at the end, and Ginny grinned wider in confirmation.

“Yeah, we got together just a few days ago.”

“That’s great!” Susan exclaimed, a full smile forming on her lips, and she looked at Ginny warmly. “Harry is a very lucky man.”

She extended her hand out toward Ginny, palm open, with an expectant look in her eyes.

Ginny’s eyebrow quirked up, and she pondered the statement briefly. 

Well, that’s different? she thought to herself. Usually, when her female classmates asked her about Harry, they always mentioned how lucky she was to be with him – not the other way around. She stared down at Susan’s open palm dumbly, then back up at her face.

Susan chuckled gently, and her eyes crinkled as her smile widened.

“My notes?” she said gently, gesturing with her head down to Ginny’s hands which held a cluster of papers and books that she’d gathered from the floor.

“Oh!” Ginny said, her face flushing as she started to feel a bit stupid. “Sorry, apparently my brain isn’t working today, here.”

She extended her hand toward Susan’s and gave her the papers and books; their fingers brushing momentarily as Susan collected them, and Ginny’s heart fluttered.

“Thanks!” Susan said as she tucked the papers under her arm. “Hey, I’ve got to get to the library to meet up with someone – but – I’ll see you around, okay Ginny?”

With that, Susan smiled one last time and headed off to the library. Ginny stared after her shouting out a much-delayed goodbye before looking down at her hand.

What the hell? she thought as her heart still raced. She shook her head to clear whatever was happening to her body. She hoped it was just a case of being excited to go see Harry or being flustered about looking like an idiot in front of Susan – and not that she was coming down with some sort of illness. That was the absolute last thing that she needed. Having attempted to shake the feeling from her body, she quickly walked out the main steps to go greet Harry.

As she approached Harry, they grabbed hands before heading down toward the lake. Ginny smiled as she looked up at him, but it faltered a fraction when she realized that her heart was no longer thrumming in her chest, and she felt particularly calm around Harry. She frowned inwardly; maybe she was coming down with something – perhaps she should stop by the Hospital Wing afterwards to get some pepperup potion just in case.

-x-x-

Over the next few days, Ginny split her time between classes, spending time with her friends, studying, and spending time with Harry. But as each day passed, she started to get more and more concerned. Her classes were going fine, her friends were well, and her exam prep was going great thanks to Hermione’s help – damn that witch could build a study guide!

The problem was with Harry.

Actually, the problem wasn’t Harry. There was nothing wrong with Harry; he was a perfect gentleman – in fact, he was everything that she thought he would be. Kind, caring, funny, smart, and he never treated her like she needed help. So she couldn’t figure out why the initial excitement that had coursed through her body when Harry first kissed her seemed to have disappeared completely. She still loved Harry; she knew that she did – she cared so deeply for him and always wanted to make sure that he was safe. But when he kissed her now, she felt nothing… just like before. She was starting to get more and more concerned as each day passed. She’d been to Madam Pomfrey twice in the last week for pepperup potion, and it didn’t seem to do anything to shake this deeply rooted anxiety that gripped her chest.

Yesterday, when she and Harry were snogging by the lake under the privacy of a large tree, he’d gently traced his hand up her side and grazed under her breast before running a thumb over her – and she felt nothing. No excitement, no build, just that familiar blank feeling she’d grown accustomed to when dating Dean, and her heart plummeted. She had tensed as the anxiety hit her and Harry withdrew his hand. They ended up just sitting in each other’s arms in silence, staring at the lake. She’d slept horribly that night as a result, playing the scene over and over in her head, knowing that Harry had pulled his hand away when he felt her tense, and she worried what he might be thinking.

She’d tossed and turned all night as the anxiety turned to a familiar sick feeling. ‘ What the fuck is wrong with me’, coursed through her head the remainder of the night as quiet hot tears escaped the corner of her eyes. She wiped the forearm of her pajama shirt across her eyes, willing the tears to stop while hoping that her dormmates wouldn’t hear the small sniffle that escaped her – she couldn’t stomach the thought of having to come up with an excuse for why she was crying behind her bed curtains at 3 am.

How is this happening to me , she mourned internally as she stared up at the canopy above her. She had Harry, the only guy she’d ever loved – the only guy she’d ever actually wanted, the missing piece to her puzzle of why she never felt like she fit in. Closing her eyes, she willed her mind to still and begged for sleep to come.

The next day Ginny sat at the bottom step of a lone tower in the castle, miserable, head in her hands while a light spring breeze blew in through the open window and mingled with her hair. She’d been there for over an hour. This was the spot she came to when she needed to think, when she needed answers – but today, she found none. She was too overwhelmed with exhaustion and dreading what was going to happen. 

Am I just incapable of feeling feelings like that? she pondered as she sunk her head even lower into her hands.

The sound of light footsteps coming down the stairs behind her made her raise her head, and she turned to look behind her only to see Luna descending the stairs.  

“Oh, hello Ginny,” Luna said in her traditional, whimsical voice and sounding a thousand miles away.

“Hey, Luna,” she said softly as she turned her head back around and propped it up in her hand.

“You seem like you’ve got something important on your mind,” Luna said as she slowed her steps and stood next to Ginny.

“You could say that,” Ginny spit out, her head ached from lack of sleep, and she didn’t really feel like having a conversation with anyone right now.

Luna seemed unfazed by Ginny’s tone, either having not registered it or having decided it wasn’t directed at her. She looked thoughtfully at Ginny for a moment before sitting down next to her, propping her head on her hand in a similar fashion.

“Anything I can help with?” she asked lightly, her face sincere and full of kindness.

Ginny sighed. She shouldn’t have snapped out her words at Luna like that, she didn’t deserve it, and she was too bloody nice to call Ginny out on her attitude, as proven by Luna’s willingness to sit down next to her and offer help. She never took Ginny’s venom personally.

“Not unless you can explain why I’m a broken person,” Ginny said with sarcasm, but she turned her head toward Luna and offered her a small smile.

Luna’s head tilted to the side as she looked over Ginny’s face curiously.

“You don’t look like a broken person to me, Ginny.” Her eyes had glanced over Ginny’s full form before settling on her gaze once more. “Tired maybe, and perhaps a bit confused, but you certainly don’t look broken.”

Ginny snorted quietly and tucked her hair behind her ears, shaking her head before looking back at Luna.

“That’s because I’m broken on the inside, Luna,” she said in a much softer voice than she’d intended. A much sadder one, and she winced at the small break she heard. “My emotions don’t seem to work the way they’re supposed to. I–”

She grimaced sadly at Luna before she continued.

“I’m not feeling how I thought I would – how I’m supposed to.”

“What is it that you’re not feeling?” Luna asked quietly.

Ginny rolled her eyes, frustrated that she was even having this conversation. She liked Luna, but getting advice from her felt like a waste of time.

“I’m not feeling anything!” she bit out angrily, voice raised in annoyance as a hot tear fell down her cheek. “It’s like I’m emotionally blunted. I thought I’d feel happy, I’d feel excited, that I – that I would feel some kind of pull, some kind of want. Anything . But I just feel fucking nothing – just like before. This was supposed to be different.”

Ginny looked down at her hands, angry with herself for yelling, angry with herself for being a broken, emotionally blunted person. She could feel Luna looking at her with that misty yet piercing gaze she had, humming quietly as she pondered Ginny’s words. They sat quietly for several minutes before Luna broke the silence.

“Have you considered that perhaps you feel how you feel and that maybe your perception of what you’re supposed to be feeling is what’s really broken?” Luna’s eyebrow was quirked in question when Ginny looked up at her. “It seems like your emotions are working just fine to me.”

Ginny stared at her, not really sure what to say. Luna always said loony things – that’s why she had gotten the nickname that she had. 

What the fuck does my perception being broken even mean? The confusion must have been evident on her face because Luna smiled gently at her before squeezing her arm and standing up.

“I think that if you listen to your heart, you’ll find that your emotions have always been working just fine,” she said, smiling again as she looked down at Ginny. “Maybe you just haven’t been listening to them. Maybe you’ve been looking in the wrong places for them.”  

She reached down toward Ginny’s hand.

“Let’s go to the kitchens,” she said softly. “A cup of tea brewed with lavender and some dark chocolate will help clear your head.”

Ginny stared up at Luna, her mouth hanging open and her emotions a mess – but she raised her hand slowly anyways and Luna took it gently, Ginny smiled. They walked in silence down to the kitchens to get their tea with lavender and dark chocolate. Ginny pondered the words that Luna had spoken. They didn’t really make sense, but yet she couldn’t help but feel like they resonated with a part of her deep down. She didn’t understand what to make of it, but she really appreciated Luna’s friendship and how she never judged anyone – always just accepting people for who they are. She spent an hour with Luna in the kitchen’s drinking their tea – which tasted… interesting, and they talked casually about exams, wrackspurts, and their favourite summertime smells.

-x-x-

Harry sat in the armchair in the Gryffindor tower with Hermione and Ron, thankful that Ron had finally shut up so that he could stare at his book in peace and pretend to be reading while his mind raced through the last two weeks with Ginny. A deep weight sat on his chest, which made it hard for him to breathe and function normally. He loved Ginny, he knew that he did, but he couldn’t help but shake this lingering feeling of wrongness he had when he was with her.

At first, he had blamed it on being unsure of Ron’s acceptance of their relationship. After all, Ginny was Ron’s baby sister, and Ron was his best friend. But as each day passed, Ron seemed more and more comfortable with them together – while Harry felt less and less okay with it. When they had first kissed in the common room, he was so proud and so excited to finally have Ginny. But as the days passed, the feeling started to fade, and he began to feel uncomfortable with the intimacy between them.

Harry had wondered if perhaps his feelings of discomfort were because he was just nervous about being physically close with Ginny, that he’d been longing for it for so long that he’d built it up in his head, and his nerves were getting the best of him – that he was just stressing out and getting stuck in his head about it. So, a few days ago, when they had been down by the lake snogging, he thought that he would try to push his comfort level by touching her more intimately. Bite the bullet, so to speak.

But as he kissed Ginny and started to move his hand up her side, it started to tremble and a knot formed in the pit of his stomach. He pushed forward, bringing his hand up under her breast and then brushed his thumb over her. His hand jerked ever so slightly, and he felt the knot in his stomach twist into a sick feeling. Ginny stiffened, and he panicked, thinking that she had felt the tremble in his hand and the jerk after he’d touched her. They ended up just sitting by the lake quietly in each other’s arms while Harry’s head spun.

He felt awkward, uncomfortable, and wrong. It had been like touching a friend, a sister, and that thought made him want to gag. He didn’t know what to do. Ginny was now his girlfriend. He cared for her, he loved her – but he didn’t think it was in the way that he was supposed to. The way that he had thought that he did. And now, he felt trapped and terrified. He couldn’t exactly break up with his best friend’s little sister and say, ‘oh so sorry, my bad, I made a mistake – I actually don’t like you… like that…’ . That thought made him about as sick as the thought of staying with her and forever feeling like he was groping at his sister. He knew that Ginny cared for him – she would do anything for him, and he didn’t want to hurt her. But he knew that he couldn’t stay either. 

Fuck, this is a mess, he thought.

-x-x-

Ginny sat in the quiet back corner of the library. It was Saturday, and Harry was currently serving detention with Snape. She’d piled several large volumes to her left to block her view of the library aisle, and she was hoping that they would send the fuck off vibe that she was currently feeling to anyone walking by. It’d been over a week since her conversation with Luna, and she still couldn’t understand what the hell she meant, and she still didn’t feel anything when she was with Harry. The whole situation was frustrating her so much that she was actually looking forward to Harry being in detention today. She hated faking being comfortable around him when she really just felt awkward– and knowing that in turn made her feel awful, guilty, and sad.

Elbows on the table, head held in her hands, she squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could, hoping that maybe she could reset her brain. But all it did was give her a headache. 

What the FUCK am I supposed to do?! she screamed inwardly before letting her head fall through her hands to thunk loudly and painfully on the table.

“Ughhh – fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!” she groaned out at the table as she gently thumped her head once more.

“So, it’s that kind of day, is it?”

The voice was friendly and familiar, and Ginny slowly raised her head from the table’s surface, lamenting internally that she didn’t build her book wall higher as she didn’t want to talk to anyone before she turned her head toward the aisle.

“Oh, Susan!” she said quickly, sitting up straight and rubbing her forehead with the sleeve of her robes to try and smooth out the red mark she could feel forming in the center.

“Hey Ginny,” Susan said happily with a warm smile as she placed a hand on the edge of the table. She tilted her head to the side before her face turned to a more serious and curious expression. “Everything – uh – okay?”

“Uh–” Ginny looked down at the table, feeling a bit stupid for being caught swearing at it as she bashed her own head. She frowned, then answered bluntly. “No, not really.”

Susan frowned in response before moving two steps toward her on the opposite side of the table but being careful with her spacing so as not to crowd Ginny. Ginny sighed internally, another thing that she always liked about Susan – her situational awareness was killer, and she really knew how to read the people around her.

“Anything I can help with?” Susan asked gently, raising a brow in question.

Ginny looked up to her bright honey-coloured eyes. There was a lighter, almost golden ring around her pupil that was really quite stunning. She wondered if it was genetic. Realizing that she’d been staring at her, she cleared her throat and then looked back down at the table.

“Honestly, probably not, but I appreciate the offer.” She grimaced and twisted her hands into a knot in front of her. “I just haven’t been having a good last few weeks. I’ve felt a little bit – off.”

“Oh.” Susan took a tentative step closer to her. “Have you gone to see Madam Pomfrey – she makes a mean pepperup.”

Ginny sighed. This was exactly why she didn’t want to talk to people. She either had to pretend like nothing was wrong or have people think that she was sick and needed the hospital wing – though to be fair, that’s what she had thought initially, too. She just didn’t feel like explaining to half the school that she was dating Harry fucking Potter and still felt alone, lost, confused, and like she didn’t belong.

“Yeah,” Ginny said, forcing a smile and looking up at Susan. “I’d been by this week already, but maybe I should go again. I’m sure it will help.”

Her smile felt weak, and she felt defeated inside.

“Mhmm,” Susan said slowly, studying her more closely. “Ginny, you know if you ever want to just – talk – I’d be more than happy to lend you my ear. While going to see Madam Pomfrey is a great idea when you’re sick, I get the feeling that this might be something else – that maybe you’re just sick of feeling a certain way?”

Ginny’s eyes widened, and she stared straight into Susan’s eyes.

“I -uh.” She faltered. Susan was appraising her in the most knowing way anyone had ever looked at her, and it made her stomach tighten. “I guess you could say that.”

Susan smiled gently and took a seat quietly on the other side of the bench, a foot closer to the aisle than where Ginny sat.

“It’s okay to feel lost and unsure, you know,” she said softly. “I used to, all the time. And while I’m not sure what it is that you’re going through exactly – I do know what it feels like to be alone and confused.”

“What did you do about it?” The words were out of Ginny’s mouth before she could stop them, and she wanted to kick herself. So much for not talking to people , she thought.

“Well, everyone’s situations are different, but I really found that talking to a close friend that I could trust was really helpful.” She smiled again, propping her chin on her hand as she leaned on the table. “For me, that friend was Luna – she’s very intuitive and very kind. I think she knew what was going on and what I needed before I had even realized it.”

Susan laughed softly as she spoke and her smile grew kinder as she thought fondly of Luna.

“That’s funny,” Ginny said as she smiled back. “Not what you said. Just – I actually talked to Luna a week ago. Though, I think it just made me more confused.”

Susan laughed gently at the look on Ginny’s face, brows slightly furrowed with a general dusting of confusion.

“Yeah,” Susan agreed, shaking her head. “Sometimes Luna can be a bit cryptic. She never wants to tell you anything directly. She believes that everyone should come to their own conclusions. But, if you can decode what she said, I think you’ll find it very useful. It took me over a month to figure out what she said to me. But when I did, I realized that I was actually just decoding my own heart and that Luna’s advice only pointed me to something that had been there the whole time.”

“Wow,” said Ginny, mouth open a fraction. She shook her head in surprise and awe of Luna’s skill. “And how do you feel now?”

“Great,” Susan said as she sat up straight. “I feel much better, more confident, I know what I want now, and for the first time in probably my whole life – I accept myself. I learned to love myself for who I am.”

Ginny smiled genuinely, and she wondered if Susan’s conversation with Luna coincided with the change that she’d seen in Susan – the change into a strong and confident person.

“I don’t suppose you have any tips for decoding?” Ginny asked lightly, arching her eyebrow. “I’m not sure I want to spend a month trying to sort this one out.”

Susan laughed again, and it was like music to Ginny’s ears. She could feel her cheeks flush slightly, happy that she’d been the one to make her laugh in full.

“No,” Susan said, still chuckling. “No – I doubt it. Luna is pretty mysterious. Even if I knew what she said, I doubt I could decode it – her messages are always meant for the person they’re delivered to. I’m afraid I probably wouldn’t be much help.”

Susan gave her a sympathetic look before slowly standing up from the table.

“But,” she added as she collected the books she’d set down. “If you ever need someone to talk to, just let me know, okay?”

Ginny watched her movements, the gentle fingers that picked up the books, her honey-coloured eyes, which were filled with genuine concern and how she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she pulled the books tighter to her chest.

Ginny’s chest tightened, and for reasons that she would spend the rest of the weekend trying to comprehend, she blurted out words for the second time that day.

“She told me that maybe I feel how I feel – that maybe my emotions aren’t broken, but my perception of them is, and uh – maybe I haven’t been looking for them in the right places.”

The words tumbled out of her mouth, and she felt the flush on her cheeks deepen, embarrassed that she’d just dumped Luna’s words out on the table like that. It wasn’t like Susan was her best friend. Maybe that was too much all at once.

Susan’s eyes widened, and her grip on her books tightened ever so slightly before she regained her composure, and she looked Ginny over gently.

“Any uh – any ideas on what that meant?” Ginny asked sheepishly, grabbing her elbow with her opposite hand.

Susan’s movements were slow, and she was looking at Ginny as if a light switch had just flicked in her head.

“I uh.” Susan looked torn, like she was deciding what to say. Like she was holding something back. “Ginny, I don’t think I’m the right person to tell you – I don’t think I should assume anything – I think this is something that you need to figure out on your own.”

Ginny frowned, at herself really, and diverted her eyes down to the table.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Susan.” She wanted to melt into the ground – her normal strong Gryffindor confidence and pride melting away. She’d been such a mess with her feelings over the last few weeks that she really didn’t feel like herself anymore. She felt pathetic. Her fiery attitude felt like it’d been snuffed out. “I shouldn’t have asked you – there’s no way you’d know what that meant. I’m just really confused. Sorry.”

She could feel Susan hesitate, feel her staring at her, and she forced herself to look up. 

For Merlin’s sake, Ginny! She cursed inwardly. You will not be pathetic as well as an emotional disaster. You will look at people when you talk to them. She met Susan’s eyes and saw only kindness, if not a little bit of pity.

“Ginny,” Susan said softly. “You’re a brilliant witch. I know you’ll figure it out faster than I did.”

Ginny felt her stomach flutter at her words, and she saw Susan’s finger twitching on her book just slightly.

“Maybe,” Susan said slowly, giving her a knowing look. “Luna’s advice isn’t as coded as you think. Maybe she meant exactly what she said – that you should spend some time listening to your emotions. Not just the bad feelings – but the good feelings too.”

With that, she gave Ginny a final smile and said goodbye, saying she hoped to see her soon. Ginny echoed her words and then sunk slowly deeper into her seat at the library table.

Listen to the good feelings too , she hummed to herself, and she twisted sideways to lean against the castle wall.

Ginny spent as much of the remainder of the day as she could pondering over both Luna’s and Susan’s words. She forced herself to smile when Harry came to get her from the library and joined in on the conversation at dinner – though secretly, she just wanted to go to bed so she could be alone with her thoughts. After what felt like an appropriately normal amount of time in the common room with Harry, Hermione, and Ron, she excused herself to bed, claiming she was tired from studying and was thankful that Harry accepted her excuse without question, noting that he almost looked relieved.

Putting a pin in that observation for later consideration, she got ready for bed and crawled under her sheets before drawing her bed curtains closed. She then spent the next several hours trying to wrap her head around the conversation with Luna and the words that Susan had spoken. She felt like she was surrounded by hints and that the solution, the answer, was just floating in front of her face like a cloud of smoke, but every time she tried to grab it, it just vanished. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep.

While she slept, Ginny dreamt. She dreamt of nonsense and fragmented memories – some real, some imaginary, some spliced together. She dreamt of Harry, but every time she touched him, he slipped out of her fingers like he was a slippery bar of soap, and he just kept shooting out of her hands. She chased him down the hallway, but he continued to just keep sliding away. 

Her dream changed, and she was playing Quidditch, but her broom wouldn’t take off the ground. She ran around the ground with it between her legs, yelling at her teammates – but they couldn’t hear her from so far up in the air. The dream changed again, and she dreamt of running into Susan, but when they collided, the pages Susan dropped exploded into bright gold feathers that fell around them, and Susan stood in the middle looking more radiant than ever. She dreamt of the Quidditch World Cup and the first time she saw the Veela dance. They were memorizing, and she wanted to tell them how beautiful they were. She stood up from her seat to go tell them, but Ron asked her why she was leaving – so she sat back down. Too afraid of Ron knowing that she wanted to go see the Veela – that she thought they were beautiful. 

She dreamt of the Burrow and chasing her childhood friends Thom and Rosa around the yard with a gnome she’d caught from the garden – until it bit her so hard she’d cried. She dropped the gnome and ran away from Thom and Rosa, afraid that they would see her crying and laugh at her. She hid behind a large oak tree and looked down at her bleeding finger. Rosa found her first, coming quietly around the tree to see if she was okay. Ginny tried to look brave, to stop crying, but her finger really hurt, and so Rosa gave her a hug. Her hug was warm, and Rosa smelled of wildflowers. Ginny buried her face in her hair, and it was soft. Rosa asked her if she wanted a kiss to make it better; Ginny nodded and held her finger out – but Rosa didn’t kiss her finger. Rosa kissed her straight on the lips. Butterflies rumbled in Ginny’s stomach, and she smiled brightly, but then she heard Thom laughing loudly as he came around the tree. Rosa yelled at Thom to go away, but Thom continued to point and laugh, calling them weird , saying that they were gross , and Ginny started crying again and ran back to the Burrow. She dreamt of golden feathers again before waking up feeling like she’d fallen into her bed.

The sheets were twisted around her ankles, and she was sweaty and cold. She looked up to the curtains drawn around her bed. It was still dim; it must be early morning. Pulling herself from bed, she went to take a shower quietly – careful not to wake her dormmates.

The hot water felt good against her skin, and it helped to wash away the daze that hung over her mind from her dream. The images danced around in her head as she tried to make sense of them. As the steam and heat woke her senses, she pulled her body wash from the shower rack and started to scrub herself clean. It smelled of wildflowers, her favourite, and she hummed pleasantly to herself before her head snapped up violently and her eyes went wide. Bottle still held in her hands, she stared down at it slowly, her heart beginning to race as the images of her dream started to sort themselves into neat little piles.

In one pile, the weird and inaccurate parts of her dream that were definitely not real – like her broom not working. In the other pile, the memories and events that were absolutely real – like her wanting to tell the Veela they were beautiful and… the long and forgotten, yet very very real memory of Rosa kissing her.

Her mind blanked, and she stood still for what must have been minutes, body wash in hand, half covered in soap while the hot water pounded down in front of her. How had she forgotten it? 

It was my first kiss , she thought. She’d been so ashamed of Thom’s teasing, so confused by how her heart had been racing that she’d taken the memory and buried it deep, deep down in the darkest part of her to be left forgotten. She’d never told anyone about it. She was only nine years old at the time, nearly ten, and she’d assumed that Thom’s reaction meant that she’d done something wrong. After that, she played with Rosa less, even though it made her sad, and she never talked to her parents about what happened.

Ginny stood dumbstruck, overwhelmed by the feelings that were surging through her body. The emotions that she’d been pushing down and burying deep within her, the memories that she’d been intentionally blocking out were all pouring out of her like a burst pipe, all at once, fast and unforgiving. How she’d found the Veela attractive but was nervous when she realized that Hermione hadn’t. How she remembered thinking Luna was c ute when she had first met her. How she loved the sound of Susan’s laugh and how her heart fluttered whenever she was near. How Rosa had given her her very first kiss – and how at the time she’d been so happy and excited and that she’d liked it.

“Fuck.” The word slipped from her mouth quietly as hot tears started to pour from her eyes.

Luna had been right. She had been feeling things. She had been feeling things all along, but she had been taking each and every one of those feelings and shoving them into a deep dark pit and leaving them to die there. She’d been taking pieces of herself and qualifying them as not suitable and trying to make them disappear.

Ginny cried. She cried for what felt like ages. Whole body sobs wracked through her, her full body shaking with each one, and she crumpled to the bottom of the shower and held her knees to her chest. The hot water poured onto her head, and she continued to clutch the body wash bottle in her hand. The smell of wildflowers still filling the stall.

After a long while, Ginny slowly pulled herself from the floor tiles and forced herself to wash herself off. She was exhausted. She felt like a piece of her had died with this realization – she wasn’t sure if it was because she was heartbroken at her own neglect of self or if she was dead in anticipation of what she knew she needed to do next. Either way, she knew that today was not going to be a good day.

After her shower, Ginny crept back to her bed, it was only 9 am, and her dormmates were still snoozing happily. She grabbed a warm, comfortable sweater and a pair of dark pants and slipped them on. She glanced in her mirror and saw the puffy redness of her eyes – but she didn’t care. She knew that what was coming next was going to be devastating and that she needed to go do it now before she lost her Gryffindor courage. So she didn’t bother to try and hide her already exhausted appearance.

Leaving the girls’ dormitories, she crept into the common room, hoping that Harry would already be awake – Hermione had put the boys on a study program, or at least she had attempted to, and it usually involved them being up and about by 9 am. She didn’t fancy the idea of seeing anyone else but Harry right now – but this couldn’t wait.

The common room was mostly empty; two younger students sat in a corner playing chess, another was in a chair reading by the window, and Harry and Hermione sat by the fire reading. She snorted inwardly, unsurprised to see that her brother was not out of bed yet.

She walked quietly up to Harry and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Hermione had seen her approaching and looked up with a smile, which quickly turned to a frown when she saw Ginny’s eyes, and she made to get up from her chair – probably to come over and ask what was wrong – but Ginny shook her head silently. Hermione remained in her seat, looking concerned but nodded back. Harry turned to look up at her, and his smile faded quickly.

“Gin,” he said quietly. “What’s wrong?”

“Wanna go for a walk?” Her voice sounded hoarse and strained, like she’d been wailing in the shower for the last hour – which she had been.

“Yeah,” he said as concern wrapped his face. And he put his book down and stood up quickly. “Yeah, come on, let’s go.”

Ginny led him silently out the portrait hole, through the castle and out the main doors down toward the lake. The whole way, Harry did not try to touch her or comfort her, and he didn’t ask her what was wrong. She thanked him inwardly for that – Harry was such a good guy, and he could tell that she wanted space.

When they reached the large oak tree by the lake, Ginny stopped and turned to face Harry. The wind had picked up, and it was starting to spit, the grey clouds in the sky darkening ominously. She looked at Harry, and his expression was filled with worry, concern, love, and kindness. She stared at him, and she felt tears start to prickle at the corner of her eyes. 

This hurt. 

She was about to hurt Harry Potter. 

She loved him; she knew she did – just now, she understood that it was in a different way, like how she loved Hermione or how she loved her brothers. This morning it’d hit her like a bludger that she would never feel anything more than that for Harry, and it killed her. She knew she was about to break his heart, and he deserved better. He was an incredible guy. He was so kind, so thoughtful, so brave, and just the best guy she knew.

She closed her eyes tightly, calling on her inner fire – the one she knew was still there. She’d let it fizzle, she’d dumped water on it each time she hid a part of herself away and ignored the emotions that she didn’t want to see, but she knew it was still there. Opening her eyes, she looked at Harry with determination. Ready to tell him, but Harry spoke first.

“Ginny, I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet but urgent, and it held a sense of anguish in it.

“What?” She faltered, a look of confusion crossing her face. “Wait – why are you sorry?”

Now Harry looked a bit confused, and he shuffled awkwardly on the spot as fat raindrops started to fall.

“I thought you might be upset with me,” he said, hesitating a moment. “That I – that I’ve been a bit distant.”

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up.

“That you’ve been distant?” she said incredulously.

“Yeah,” Harry said slowly, the confusion on his face growing. “I thought you noticed I’ve been a bit – erm – off this last little while. I thought I might have upset you. I thought that you were annoyed with my – uh – with my hesitating with – with – um – being close to you.”

Ginny was in disbelief. If she was being honest, she didn’t notice him being distant. She had been too preoccupied with her own emotions. She hadn’t been paying attention. But looking at Harry now, he looked nervous, scared almost, and an anxiousness filled the air around him. His hands twisted into the fabric of his sweater, and his hair was hanging wet on his face.

“I uh.” He hesitated again, looking down at the ground before taking a deep breath. “I’ve been having a little bit of trouble being close to you – in that way – I care about you, Ginny, I really do. I’ve just been a bit uncomfortable – I don’t know how to describe it.”

A loud clap of thunder jolted Ginny to her senses and the situation that had unfolded in front of her. She looked at Harry – his awkward nervousness, blatant discomfort and unease, and she couldn’t help it as a small laugh escaped her. She couldn’t believe this. She shook her head; Harry was uncomfortable with being close to her.

Harry looked at her more concerned than before, obviously unsure why she had laughed. But as rain ran down her hair and soaked through her sweater, she smiled at Harry, a genuine and warm smile from the deepest depths of her soul.

“Harry,” she said slowly with the smallest hint of a smile on her face. “Harry, I wanted to talk to you because – well, because I also feel awkward and uncomfortable – because Harry, I think I’m gay.”

There. 

She’d said it. 

She’d openly said she was gay for the first time in her life – and she’d said it in front of her boyfriend, Harry Potter. It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders; everything felt surreal, and her soul felt lighter. Lightning struck brightly over the Quidditch field with another loud boom of thunder.

Harry looked at her in surprise, almost with disbelief. He opened his mouth and shut it twice before shaking his head and laughing with a lightness she hadn’t heard in weeks.

“Ginny, I–” He at her and his eyes shone. A grin split across his face as he looked at her anew, taking her in. “Thank you for telling me, for sharing that with me.”

Ginny smiled genuinely, and she reached out and took his hand.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said quietly through the rain. “I – I didn’t know. I didn’t know until recently. I think I always knew. I guess I just – I didn’t realize. I’d pushed it all down. I would never have gotten into a relationship with you if I’d known I just – I just thought it was you, Harry. I thought I only loved you, and that’s why I never liked any other guys. And I do, Harry! I do love you, I care for you so, so much, and I know that I always will. It’s just – not in that way. I love you like my brother Harry. And I really hope – I would really love it if we could stay friends?”

Ginny looked at Harry with anxious anticipation, a hopeful shine in her eyes that he would accept her offer.

Harry positively beamed and she could see his shoulders visibly relax. He squeezed her hand tightly in return before he spoke.

“Ginny, I love you – so, so much. But over the last few weeks, I realized that I love you like you’re my sister. That’s why I’ve been distant – because I’ve felt uncomfortable and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to hurt you.” He looked into her eyes, the emotions pouring out of them. “Ginny, I would love to be your friend.”

Tears poured down Ginny’s face, and she pulled him into a tight hug. They stood in the rain as Ginny sobbed and held Harry tightly, telling him how much he meant to her, how sorry she was, how happy she was to have him in her life and thanking him for accepting her. Harry held her with equal tightness and stroked her hair gently, telling her how wonderful she was, how strong she was for telling him, how happy he was for her, how he wanted her to find happiness and how he was so happy to have met her and to have her as part of his life.

When they finally let go, the rain had stopped, and the sun was peeking out. The world felt quiet and calm again as if the storm had only been there to echo the release of their emotions. Hands held together firmly; they slowly walked their way back up to the castle. They both agreed that they were officially broken up, but Harry agreed to remain Ginny’s boyfriend optically so that she would have time to further accept her new self-discovery and so that they could come up with a way to mutually breakup to their friends. 

Ginny wasn’t ready for the school to know that she was gay – which Harry fully supported – and she didn’t want to answer any questions about their breakup while trying to study for her OWLs. They both agreed to keep physical contact to a minimum until they ‘broke up superficially’ – as neither of them wanted it, so they would stick to hand-holding or a quick kiss on the cheek if possible. They also agreed that each of them was free to go pursue whoever they wanted to with no hard feelings.

When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Ginny turned to Harry and kissed him gently on the cheek, squeezing his forearm firmly. She thanked him for being so understanding and accepting. Harry patted her gently on the back and thanked her for understanding his feelings and wanting to remain friends.

Then they turned and climbed through the portrait hole to change out of their wet clothes. Hermione gave her a concerned look when she saw her, but it lightened into a smile when she saw that Ginny was beaming. Ginny went and took her second shower of the morning – this time though, she felt relaxed, calm, and thankful. She closed her eyes and soaked in the smell of wildflowers.

Hermione awoke to the sound of the wind whipping at the tent with vigour and the small sound of rain pitter-pattering against the tent, most of it evidently still being blocked by the cave. It had been two days since Harry told her that Ginny was gay and exactly one month since she was attacked by the werewolf.

She rolled onto her back, the golden locket weighing heavily on her chest as she turned. It felt heavier now than since she was attacked, and she suspected that it had something to do with the dark magic that would forever linger in her body. The Horcrux didn’t bother her mood any more than usual; it just felt physically heavier, and wearing it for extended periods of time made her more exhausted. She wasn’t exactly sure what the reason was for that, but she kept it to herself and wore the locket her fair share. She’d done some reading on it, and from what she could find, it didn’t seem like there was anything to be concerned about – no actual long-term effects, just short-term exhaustion. Every time she took the Horcrux off and handed it to Harry, it was like a literal weight had been lifted from her, and she felt fine again. So, she opted to sleep with it or wear it while they read, and Harry had worn it while they walked or exercised.

It was still dark out, the light in the tent was dim, but it was her turn to take the second watch by the entrance of the cave. So far, the area around them had been completely deserted, but they’d been there for a week now, and she didn’t want to push their luck. It was time to move on to a new location, somewhere far from the South-West coast of England. Hermione rolled out of bed with ease and turned to look at her bunk triumphantly, hands on her hips and a wide grin spread across her face. She was so pleased with her physical progress and her healing. She was confident that she would be able to apparate now.

A light shone over her, and Hermione looked up to see Harry enter the tent, wand in hand and looking right at her.

“Good morning,” he said with a brightness that didn’t match the weather that he’d been sitting in for the last four hours. He looked her over and a small grin formed on his face. “You look mighty pleased with yourself.”

Hermione realized that she was still standing in triumph next to her bed with a stupid smile on her face. She blushed and dropped her hands from her hips, awkwardly grabbing her elbow with the opposite hand instead.

“I was just pleased with my progress,” she said, sounding a little embarrassed.

“You should be! You sure showed that bed who’s boss!” He grinned at her and headed to the kitchen table.

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t help it when a small chuckle passed her lips.

“So, what put you in such a good mood this morning? I can’t see how it was the weather.” She quirked an eyebrow at him as he shucked off his outer rain jacket and hung it on the kitchen chair.

“What? Rain, rain, and more rain? Who doesn’t love that?” He grinned at her as he walked toward her, carrying with him a small jar containing a blue flame. He handed it to her gently. “I’m just excited that it’s your turn, and I get to go to bed now. Saved my flame for you.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said with a smile, taking the glass jar from Harry. “I do have some good news, though.”

“Hmm, what’s that?” Harry had already sat down on his bunk and was pulling on dry socks, looking up at her curiously.

“I think I’m healed enough to apparate. I know you’ll miss the rain – but I thought we could apparate to a new location tomorrow. Put some solid distance between us and the last few camps.”

Harry stopped putting on his socks to look at her fully, appraisingly, a hint of concern in his eyes.

“I know the rain sucks, Hermione, but I actually don’t mind it. Are you sure you’re okay to apparate?” He had risen from his bed and walked to stand back in front of her, placing a hand gently on her upper arm. “You look good – I mean, your physical progress has definitely improved, and you look much better. I just don’t want you to rush anything. But you know your body – so only if you’re sure?”

Hermione blushed lightly at his words. She loved that Harry was always so concerned about everyone else, but she nodded firmly.

“Yes, I’m sure.” She pulled the blue flame a little closer to her chest when Harry’s thumb moved comfortingly against her arm, and her stomach tightened. “I know I can do it. I’ll be fine. I’ve been keeping tabs on the level of my fitness, and I’ve been checking the wounds. They’re fully healed, and I think I might actually be in better shape than when we left – thanks to your fitness routine.”

Harry smiled at her warmly and dropped his hand. She noticed the void it seemed to leave and how her arm now felt cold. She shook her head to clear it. Harry had touched her plenty of times before; she wasn’t sure why recently it seemed so much more impactful.

“Okay, if you’re sure, then I trust you.” He turned to head towards his bunk. “Wake me up if anything happens out there. It’s still pretty awful, so I doubt anything is out and about, but – you know where to find me.”

With that, they smiled and said goodnight to each other, Hermione turning to exit the tent and take up the post at the edge of the cave. She made sure to grab her repaired rain jacket on the way – thankful for it as soon as she stepped from the tent. The wind had picked up, and it whirled around violently, the ocean raging and the rain still falling. She settled on the small rock by the entrance of the cave, cast a warming charm on herself and held the jar tight to her chest. It was dark and damp, and it made Hermione miss the heat of the summer days after the wedding.

Her watch was uneventful, the storm raged on, and the sun, although rising, was barely visible behind all of the clouds. Hermione sat quietly, lost in thought regarding Harry, Ginny, Horcruxes, and the werewolf band. She’d spent the last two days thinking heavily on what she was going to do about these strange feelings that seemed to be surfacing – and the closeness that had grown between her and Harry. Knowing about Ginny had at least squashed the guilt that she had been harbouring over it, but she still wasn’t sure if the change in dynamic was simply just because they’d been stuck in a tent together for months and their hormones were getting to them, or if it was something deeper finally bubbling to the surface. After all, she and Harry had always been close.

Regardless of what it was, though, Hermione had pretty well resolved herself to do nothing with the emotions – they were in the middle of a war. She and Harry needed to focus on Horcruxes. They needed to hone their skills and practice, find the sword of Gryffindor and figure out a way to destroy these things – not to mention locate the remaining ones. She didn’t exactly have the time, nor did she really think it was appropriate to be dwelling on feelings for her best friend. Especially when the feelings may very well just be pent-up sexual tension – she’d never been one to succumb to urges, but she was human. There were more important things to do right now – so it would be best to just ignore the closeness and perhaps try to add some more space between them. Still mulling things over, she didn’t hear as Harry approached her and laid a hand on her shoulder when her watch was over, and she jumped with a start.

“Sorry,” Harry said softly, giving her an apologetic look. “I made some breakfast and tea – come on in and warm up.”

“Thanks, Harry.” Hermione smiled up at him, handing the jar of flames to his outstretched hands and getting up to follow him inside.

They ate breakfast together and looked over the map to determine where to go next. Hermione selected a remote wooded area in the northern end of England where she had camped with her parents. After a quick shower, they packed up their belongings and then started to disassemble the tent. It took a little bit longer, what with having to remove the sticking charms and with the wind trying to pry everything away from them, but they managed to get the tent packed securely into Hermione’s purse.

After handing the locket off to Harry, Hermione stood beside him and reached out to grab his hand. She stood there holding it firmly, taking a few deep breaths to calm her nerves – she was nervous to apparate for the first time in a month, especially considering how rough that last time had been. If she wanted to do it without injury, she needed to focus.

Harry squeezed her hand, and she looked over to him.

“I trust you,” he said as he met her eyes evenly. “You can do this.”

She smiled back in return, feeling a warm buzz of confidence in her chest, and she matched his grip. Taking one last deep breath, she closed her eyes and apparated them away.

They landed in a wooded area, exactly where she planned to bring them, but the velocity of their landing was a bit fast. Hermione stumbled abruptly as her feet landed, and she began to fall forwards, but a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist to catch her fall and pull her back.

“Woaahhh – careful,” Harry said by her ear. He’d managed to grab her tightly before she fell on her face, he pulled her back toward him, and her back thumped gently against his chest.

“Thanks,” she said a little breathlessly. “I guess that took a little more out of me than I expected.”

She looked up over her left shoulder towards him. His hands were still wrapped securely around her waist, albeit less tightly now that she was standing straight on her own, and he was looking down at her with concern. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice quiet as he looked at her.

Hermione stared at him, her eyes widening as she felt her breathing hitch. He was so warm, and a strange heated feeling was washing over her body from the contact between them. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.

“Hermione?” His eyebrow raised as he looked at her more intently.

“What? Yeah – no, I’m fine.” She could feel the burn of a blush, and she looked away quickly. “I’m fine, sorry. I just, that was a bit more difficult than I thought. Are you okay?”

She stepped away from Harry to look at him, and he let his arms fall. She needed to put some distance between them and get control of her body’s reactions.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” He smiled at her. “You did perfect. I knew you could do it.”

She beamed at him and flushed again before pulling her purse off her shoulder to get out the tent. They set it up together and then placed the wards, enchantments, and alarms. Within an hour, they were seated on a small rock outside of the tent drinking tea.

The forest was much cooler than south England, and a cold breeze blew Hermione’s hair from her face as she sipped the hot tea. It was getting to the end of October, and the chill of November was already upon them. Her body was tired. She had been able to successfully apparate, and for that, she was incredibly proud, but she felt exhausted as if she’d run a mile and completed their workout routine. The forest was quiet. The only sound was that of the leaves blowing in the trees and the dead ones that fell to the ground. Her eyes started to droop, and she found her body slouching – then, after a moment, it sagged to the right until it gently leaned against Harry. Her insides churned with anticipation and sleepy butterflies, and the logical side of her brain told her to stop and sit up straight – or if she was that tired, then to just go to bed. After all, she’d decided earlier that day that it would be best not to dwell on these emotions or do anything else to instigate further closeness between them, given the situation. 

But she was so, and her dead feeling body was winning out and quieting the constant chatter in her head. She opted for whatever was most comfortable and most warm – and Harry was impossibly warm next to the cold air. She kept her eyes from Harry, though, staring out into the woods, hoping that he wouldn’t think the action was anything more than just an exhausted friend leaning on him for support – because that’s all this was, she stated firmly to herself.

After a moment, she felt him move, and then his left hand slowly and cautiously snaked around her waist. She felt his hand on her opposite side, and her heart fluttered lightly when she felt his fingers grip her steadily so that she could lean her full weight on him. Too sleepy to overthink it, she leaned into him further, and he pulled her closer, holding her more tightly. Her head now fully resting on his shoulder, her eyes slouched half-closed, she breathed in a deep breath and could smell the familiar scent of the forest mingling with Harry’s. He always somehow smelled of fall, like the crisp cool air and a deeper smell that she couldn’t name – it was just how he always smelled, and it made her feel calm and safe. They sat in comfortable silence for a while before Hermione spoke.

“Harry?” she said quietly, her voice laced with sleepy undertones.

“Mmm?”

She felt his head turn, and she assumed that he was looking down at her.

“I was thinking we should practice some spells and duelling to help with our reflexes – but also my stamina. I think that’s why apparating hit me so hard. I’ve gotten rusty.”

“You’ve gotten better, you mean,” Harry said gently. But then she felt him nod. “But yeah – I’ve been thinking that too. I was waiting until you were ready. It’s a good idea.”

Hermione nodded into his shoulder and took another sleepy sip of tea.

“We can start tomorrow,” he said gently, giving her a squeeze with his arm.

Hermione smiled and closed her eyes, and she burrowed her face slightly into the sleeve of his thick sweater to warm her nose. She felt him chuckle gently.

“You should go sleep for a little bit,” he murmured into her hair, stroking her side with his hand.

“I suppose so,” she sighed. She had thought about fighting it, but she knew that Harry wouldn’t accept it. Besides, she was no use to them exhausted and half asleep.

Slowly Hermione leaned away from Harry, her body shivering from the cold that quickly filled the gap between them. Smiling at him, she made him promise to wake her up for late lunch and not let her sleep the day away. He laughed gently but agreed. Then, bidding him goodnight, she sauntered slowly into the tent and collapsed on her bunk, falling asleep immediately.

Harry kept his promise and woke Hermione up for a late afternoon lunch. She awoke feeling well-rested, and they spent the remainder of the day reading and planning which spells they would practice during the following week. Then over the course of the week, Harry and Hermione resumed their four-hour watch shifts, their physical exercise routine, reading, researching, discussing possible locations of the sword of Gryffindor, and they added in two to three hours of spell practice in the afternoon.

Hermione practiced her Patronus, several explosion spells, disarming and stunning. Harry worked on his disarming, several hexes and explosion spells, and reviewed his healing spells with Hermione’s guidance. They even threw in some practical duelling exercises using strictly disarming and leg locker curses. Each of them ran amongst the trees dodging, jumping, rolling and shielding to avoid getting hit by the other. By the end of the week, they had to add a time limit to their duelling training as they were unable to hit each other with anything.

On their last day in northern England, they ate breakfast together, and Hermione noticed that Harry seemed oddly quiet and perhaps a little nervous. She was spooning another scoop of oatmeal when he finally broke the silence that had been stretching between them.

“I want to teach you sectumsempra. ” Harry met her gaze determinedly when she looked up from her spoon that now hung limply in front of her mouth.

“What?” The word fell out of her mouth with no emotion, and she eyed him with some confusion. “Harry, that spell is dark magic – you saw what it did to Malfoy.”

“Yes, I know Hermione, but please just hear me out, okay?” He looked at her hopefully, eyeing the spoon that stood poised in front of her, the eyebrow that she had raised and the look of slight disbelief that covered her face. But, he noted, she hadn’t cut him off in a lecture or said no outright, which was a good sign – so Harry continued slowly.

“I know it’s dark magic, Hermione. I’m not denying that, and I’m not asking you to use it. In fact, I hope that you or I never even have to consider using it. I just want us to be prepared.” He looked at her evenly. He had been planning what to say the entire week since the thought first entered his mind. “After the werewolf, after what we have seen – the Death Eaters, You Know Who – they’re not going to fight fair. If that werewolf was banded to stay in wolf form or banded to serve as you’ve suspected, then our situation just got even worse. I don’t want to use the spell, Hermione – I just want to know that if we get stuck, if we reach a life or death situation, that we have something that could save our lives. That you have this as a last resort.”

Hermione frowned at him, put her spoon back into her bowl and crossed her arms over her chest. What Harry said was true, and she knew it – she just didn’t like it. Earlier in the week, Hermione had told Harry about an interesting article she had come across on banding experiments from the 1800’s. It turns out that a wizard named Tolipkins had been experimenting with banding magic and discovered a way to blood bond people with the use of a golden band so that they couldn’t harm him and were forced to do his bidding. Almost like a form of the imperius curse but much longer-lasting.

Trouble was the person died after several months of servitude. If her suspicions were correct, she figured that someone else had found the article and had been experimenting with it on werewolves. Since they knew that the werewolves were already sided with You Know Who, she began to suspect that the subjects must either be unwilling or muggle. Muggle werewolves were rare. Usually, they bled out when bitten, but if someone was collecting muggles and changing them on purpose in a controlled way – then Harry was right. They were in a lot of trouble. A Death Eater wouldn’t care about changing a muggle over, and they would create as many as they deemed necessary – and likely keep them in wolf form permanently until they died.

“Harry,” she said quietly. “That spell does irreparable damage.”

“I know,” Harry said, eyeing her cautiously. “But so will a Death Eater if they catch you. I only want you to know it for an absolute worst-case scenario – I would never ask you to use it otherwise.”

Hermione bit her lip, pondering it over. She knew that he was right, but she hated the idea of knowing a dark spell, let alone using one. They were supposed to be fighting this war in the right, in the good – not sinking to the level of the Death Eaters. She sighed and dropped her arms to run a hand through her curls. The Death Eaters were willing to die for their cause, to kill for their cause – Am I ? The question hummed within her mind.

She knew that she was ready to die for the cause, and she would fight until the very end – but she wasn’t sure if she was willing to kill for it. The thought made her sick, even though the logical side of her told her that she needed to be ready for that. Obviously, she didn’t wish for it – but if the Order, or anyone else fighting in the war for that matter, didn’t take it seriously or didn’t match the tenacity of the Death Eaters and you know who – they were doomed to fail.

“Fine,” she said with the sound of unease laced in her voice. “You’re right. Fine – I’ll learn it. But I’m not using it, Harry. I won’t use it. I plan to fight this war with dignity and in the right, not with dark magic.”

She took a breath and picked her spoon back up.

“But you’re right, Harry – it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Harry’s shoulders dropped, the tension and anxiety finally leaving his body. He sighed and gave her a small smile.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said with sincerity.

She waved him off with her spoon and took another bite before speaking.

“Let’s get it done after breakfast before we leave. Done and over with.”

Harry nodded and picked up his own spoon, eating in a much more normal fashion.

Once the tent was packed, they stood in the forest wands ready. Harry showed her the lashing motion required to cast sectumsempra and went over the pronunciation with her. She frowned while he taught her but didn’t complain. Once she had the spell down Harry, went and grabbed a large fallen branch and dragged it over to her before standing back. She stared at the log and held her wand nervously. Then, somewhat reluctantly, she cast the spell at the log – flinching when it split violently in half. Harry approached her cautiously and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She remained still and stared at the fragmented log.

“That’s surprisingly easier than I thought it would be,” she said quietly after a moment.

Harry looked down at her and saw the frown deepen across her face.

“I would have thought it would have been more difficult – that maybe I would have felt something – felt something wrong, or dark, or anything. ” She looked up at him, and Harry was surprised to see what looked like sadness in her eyes. “What does that say about me, Harry?”

“Nothing,” he said gently as he stroked her back. “Hermione – it’s different when you see it, when it’s cast against another person. Trust me – you being able to cast it easily is just because you’re skilled. Seeing a log break in half is much less impactful than seeing a person sliced to bits. You’re fine. If you ever have to cast it at someone – it won’t be easy like this.”

Her scowl remained, but she nodded once before dropping her eyes.

“We should get going,” she said, quickly changing the subject and grabbing Harry’s arm firmly.

“Alright,” he said before she apparated them away.

-x-x-

Hermione apparated them to an area of rolling hills at the edge of a forest. They were somewhere in the middle of England, and the weather was dim, damp and rainy. They set up camp just inside the woods in silence, Hermione still frowning over her use of sectumsempra , and they settled into their normal routine of reading. Hermione had found that the second apparition was easier – she didn’t stumble when landing, and she also didn’t need a nap. Sitting quietly and reading, they opted to skip their normal fitness routine due to the weather and tried to talk to Phineas instead. Before having to shove his portrait back into Hermione’s purse, they learned of a constant low-level mutiny at the school, that Ginny had been banned from Hogsmeade and that Snape had reinstated Umbridges’s old decree forbidding gatherings of three or more students. They figured that Ginny and Luna had likely started up Dumbledore’s Army again – and this made them very pleased.

They took their evening tea inside, sitting in the plush armchairs and listening to the light rainfall around the tent. It was cool, so they both cast warming charms. Harry sat to Hermione’s left, and they both shared the footstool in the middle – though Hermione only had her toes perched on the edge of it as she’d brought her chair closer to it and had her knees bent up to her chest. After several moments of silence, Harry spoke.

“I’m sorry for asking you to learn that spell, Hermione, I just – I just don’t want you to get hurt again. I want us to be prepared.” He looked at her with concern brimming in his eyes.

Hermione sighed and felt the crease that’d been between her brows all day fall away. She knew that she’d been particularly abrasive the whole day after using sectumsempra , and that wasn’t fair to Harry, who was just trying to be practical.

“No, Harry,” she said as she brought her teacup down to rest on the top of her knees. “Don’t be sorry. I’m just – I’m just being an immature child. You’re right, and your reasons are practical – just because I don’t like it doesn’t mean it’s not true. I’m sorry for being so stupid and moody about it. You’re just trying to be prepared; you’re taking this seriously.”

Harry smiled at her softly.

“So – we’re good?” His eyebrow had quirked up with his question.

Hermione laughed and smiled at him, letting the last bit of tension she’d been holding fall away.

“Yes, Harry. Yes, we’re good.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have been so immature and pouty about it.”

“Well.” He laughed before grinning at her. “You were pretty pouty about it.”

She nudged his feet with hers, aiming to push them off the stool, but Harry reacted too quickly and instead tangled his legs around hers so she couldn’t move them. She scowled again.

“Must you be so good at everything?” she asked as she tried to pull her feet free, but they just twisted aimlessly between his calves.

“Well, I am the chosen one,” he said with a humorous glint in his eyes.

Hermione groaned and rolled her eyes but stopped twisting her legs and instead settled in deeper into her chair.

“You’re incorrigible,” she said, giving him a look of disbelief before she took another sip of her tea.

Harry laughed outright and reached over to grab his book from the small table between them, flipping it open with one hand to pick up where he’d left off earlier. They sat quietly, Harry reading and Hermione just sipping her tea, enjoying the warmth from the cup and secretly enjoying the warmth from Harry’s legs which were still intertwined with hers. She pushed aside the worry that sat in her stomach of the flutters she got from the closeness and instead reached for her book to read.

After an hour, Hermione went to bed first, leaving Harry for the first watch with the locket and gripping his shoulder softly as she passed by him. He’d reached up to her hand and squeezed it in return, giving her a caring smile before she let go. She wasn’t sure why she did it – perhaps because she wanted to ensure Harry knew they were still fine. But when she crawled into her bunk, she clutched the hand that she’d reached out to Harry tightly to her chest before falling asleep.

Warning:

This chapter contains: descriptions of scars.

-x-x-

Over the next three weeks, their routine remained steady. They each took their night shifts, took turns with the locket, they prepared meals, cleaned the tent, read, discussed locations for Horcruxes, exercised intensely, practiced spells, practiced healing, ran, dodged, jumped, rolled and duelled – even in the rain. They were both in the best shape they’d ever been in and their confidence was growing. Hermione felt strong – and she liked it.

She could now easily cast her patronus, and they’d both mastered deprimo, expulso, incarcerous, and a nifty little shock spell which could be used to restart someone’s heart. Harry’s ability to recall and use healing spells had improved drastically and he now felt confident that he could heal and treat most wounds. They reviewed through the contents of Hermione’s purse and she explained how to determine how much blood replenishing potion someone needed by casting a quick and simple diagnostic charm – which Harry could now also cast and read. He felt comfortable with her entire potion set and collection of herbs and pastes. Harry felt capable and useful – and he liked it.

During the three weeks they moved locations four times and each day Hermione tried to calm her nerves regarding the closeness which had continued to grow between them despite her resolve to do nothing with the mixed emotions that coursed through her. She lectured herself inwardly for her behaviour. She could hardly pretend that outright and intentionally tangling her feet with Harry’s every time they shared the footstool now was helping – though she tried to convince herself it was only for warmth. Now that they were well into the middle of November it was always cold, and the tent was chilly – but she knew her excuse was still weak.

She couldn’t ignore how they now sat precisely beside each other outside every night for tea, shoulders and upper arms touching. When the weather was bad and they had their tea inside, she caught herself either intertwining their legs on the footstool or resting her knee against Harry’s under the kitchen table while they sat opposite to each other. She found it hard to ignore how Harry leaned into her shoulder when he laughed, or how she rested her head on his shoulder if she was tired from the day’s workout. And how when she did rest her head on his shoulder, he would snake his arm around her gently to hold her and pull her closer.

She also couldn’t forget how two weeks ago when she wasn’t feeling great after her night watch in the rain Harry got her some pepperup potion from her bag, insisted that she stay in bed, and ended up crawling onto her bunk to spend the day sitting with her. He leaned against the large tent pole that ran up alongside the middle of her bunk, Hermione sat propped against her pillows and Harry held her legs over his own, sitting perpendicular to her. He got her books to read, insisted he bring her food and complete the next night’s watch himself so she could rest fully and prevent herself from getting sick. Her stomach still fluttered when she thought about how he’d stroked her knee absently and checked her forehead gently with the back of his hand to make sure that she didn’t have a fever. His face had been so close to hers that she hadn’t breathed, and he lingered a moment before pulling away.

It was also difficult not to notice how one night, she’d held his hand while they sat outside looking at the stars. It was cold and dark, and they were on the peak of a cliff in Northern England. She’d grabbed his hand when she spotted a shooting star and squeezed it excitedly – pointing to the sky with her free hand. Harry grinned widely when he saw the next one that fell and squeezed her hand in return. They sat and watched the meteor shower, hands held tightly,huddled close together with the blue fire containing jar sitting across both of their laps. When the meteor shower ended, neither one of them let go and they sat in silence and continued to look at the sky in silence. Harry traced small circles into the back of her hand with his thumb, and she found herself gripping him far more tightly than what was necessary – especially given it wasn’t even necessary to be holding his hand to begin with.

Hermione had looked up at him under her lashes, only to find that Harry was looking directly at her. They stared at each other in silence before Hermione forced her eyes to look away and she stood up to take their well-worn tea cups inside. Harry had been looking at her with 'that look', the one that she had started to become familiar with over the last few weeks. The one that made her stomach knot. Her heart was positively hammering in her chest by the time she’d made it to the kitchen and her hands clattered the cups onto the counter roughly. It was impossible to ignore the tight coil of heat that was forming in her lower abdomen – and she knew that she was in deep trouble.

Between this and the constant and continued small touches, how Harry had gently pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear after their most recent duel which had made her heart flutter – she didn’t know what to do.

Part way through the next week Hermione apparated them to a field of grass along the North-East coast of England. They were nearing the last week of November and the sleet and snow had started. They quickly set-up the tent and ran out to place their circumference alarms before running back to the tent for cover. It was cold, frosty and wet. When they entered the tent, they each took off their soaking wet jackets and cast several warming spells before starting a fire between the two armchairs in a large bowl. A habit they had started once the cold weather had sunk in. They both huddled around it to warm up before making themselves lunch and Hermione ignored her inner voice once more and tangled her legs with Harry’s.

-x-x-

On the fourth day camping in the field of grass the weather let up ever so slightly and the sleet had turned mostly to fat fluffy snow – with it the weather felt milder. Hermione was feeling pent up, antsy and tense. With the weather being as particularly horrible as it was the past few days, they hadn’t completed their usual duelling, running and exercise routine, instead doing as much as they could within the tent for the last three days. But it was nothing in comparison to the intensity that she had become accustomed to. She found herself pacing the tent after lunch while Harry was in the shower. She’d seen the tension in him too and knew that he was itching to burn off some pent-up tension.

Harry emerged from the bathroom with a cloud of steam, rubbing a tower through his wet hair, to see Hermione walking circles in the tent.

“Feeling a bit pent-up?” he asked, smiling knowingly.

“Yeah, you could say that,” She groaned and stopped her pacing to turn and look at him. He looked fit in his dark green sweater and blue jeans. She flushed lightly and looked at the floor. Don’t be ridiculous, she thought to herself with irritation. “I just need to burn off some steam.”

“Yeah tell me about it,” he muttered with a frustrated sigh as he lightly tossed his towel over the back of a chair to dry. With that he walked to the entrance of the tent and looked outside. “It’s not too bad out, want to go practice a few spells?”

Hermione smiled and grabbed her coat immediately, almost knocking over the chair as she pulled it towards her.

“Absolutely! Dry your hair so it doesn’t freeze,” she walked toward him with her wide grin and touched his side gently as she passed. “I’ll be outside warming up.”

Harry smiled and went to grab his jacket, drying his hair with a quick drying spell as Hermione had suggested. They used water-repelling charms on their jeans and shoes to help keep themselves dry and spent the next hour out in the mild fluffy snowflakes casting spells and running and dodging.

It felt great and Hermione’s heart surged with joy as she ducked one of Harry’s leg lockers in a quick roll, ignoring the coolness of the snow that fell down the back of her jacket and popped up quickly to throw a disarming spell. Harry lunged to the right and rolled out of the way with ease. Hermione rolled her shoulders before throwing two more as Harry continued to dodge, the smile on her face was contagious and Harry couldn’t help but grin after he had to dive into a small snow pile to escape her relentless attack.

They’d both been practicing their non-verbal magic over the last month and could cast most spells without uttering an incantation. They still required them for healing and more complex hexes, but their progress was undeniable. Hermione couldn’t help but feel as though they had become completely different people from who they were the day Ron had left and she revelled in how they meshed together and worked together better than she could have ever anticipated. She could read Harry and he could read her. They both zigged and zagged and ducked and rolled as if it were a dance. They were in sync, they were united, they were partners – and they both marvelled in how powerful and prepared it made them feel.

After their time limit ran out they both walked back to the tent entrance to grab a drink of water, and Harry turned to Hermione with a glint in his eye.

“I want to try the new shield charm,” he said it as a statement, but she could tell he was looking for her approval.

“Okay,” she said, puffing slightly as she drank from her glass. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Harry positively beamed and darted in the tent to grab his book and notes, returning to present them to Hermione with a look of pride. Hermione sat on a small rock next to the tent and flipped the book open to read about the spell and skim the notes that Harry had prepared. They’d spoken about it often over the last month so she was already familiar with most of what she was reading. Her eyebrows raised, he had been extremely thorough - and she was impressed. Her reaction didn’t go unnoticed.

“Not just a pretty face huh?” Harry grinned and poked her with his elbow gently, having squatted down next to her. “I have some book skills too.”

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes, but then she grinned up at Harry. Fat flakes of snow had been collecting in her hair. 

She looks like Christmas, Harry thought.

“These are actually great notes Harry,” she said with praise. “I think you’ve got everything here – really what this will come down to is ensuring the precise wand movement and focus. You need to really want to shield the person you’re casting the spell on – whether it’s you or someone else.”

“I’ll cast it on myself to try it first.” Harry nodded in agreement. “Worst case – you can patch me up afterwards.”

“Don’t say that Harry.” Hermione looked at him firmly. “You’re going to get this. You’ve done the work. We’ll just go slow.”

Harry nodded and they both stood to review the precise wand movements several times until Harry was comfortable making the flick with his wrist before dipping the wand down and then up in a swished counterclockwise circle. He repeated the movements 6 more times before they went through the pronunciation. Hermione had agreed with Harry’s interpretation of the text and the importance of the inflection in the lo-co portion of the spell. After several more repetitions Harry stood several feet away from her and prepared to cast the spell. He stood quietly and unmoving, his black jacket a dark contrast to the snow that was falling around them.

“You can do this Harry,” Hermione said calmly mimicking the motions with her hand. “Just remember, it’s Plenus-Protego-corPus-LoComotor. You really have to hit that P and C.”

“I know,” Harry said nervously, shaking his arms out as he repeated her word and then looked up at her. “Well – here goes nothing.”

He took a breath and Hermione clenched her jaw.

“Plenus-Protego-corPus-LoComotor!” he cried, making the wand movements in sync with his words and focusing his attention on his own body.

Harry’s wand shot out a dark purple spark with a bright white light in its center, it immediately turned back toward him and expanded rapidly, encasing his entire body. Harry stood frozen as the spell circled him fully – it looked like he was encased in a Harry shaped bubble that was slightly larger than him, still a deep purple shade until – it vanished. Harry didn’t move, he wasn’t breathing, and he slowly raised his hand to look at it. It looked perfectly normal. He turned his head toward Hermione who was watching him anxiously.

“Are you okay Harry?” she asked, stepping closer to him and gripping her wand tightly at her side.

“Yeah,” Harry said slowly as he took a step forward. “Everything – sounds a little funny. I can feel the presence of something around me – like a small hum. I think it might have worked – hit me with a disarming spell.”

Hermione raised her ward and pointed it at Harry’s chest, he looked at her anxiously, excited but tentative.

“Expelliarmus!” she called it out loud so that Harry would know when to expect it, her spell hit him firm in the chest, but nothing happened, and a smile broke out on her face. “Harry, I think you’ve done it!”

Harry beamed, a wide smile stretching across his face.

“Go again, hit me with another – try something else this time.” He looked at her eagerly.

“Petrificus Totalus!” She stepped forward as she cast the spell to ensure there was no room for a miss.

Again, nothing happened, and her spell just disappeared as it reached Harry’s chest.

“Harry this is incredible! Try moving.” Hermione gestured with her head and Harry nodded before running off to his right with a huge grin on his face.

She cast two more disarming spells, a bat bogey hex and two leg lockers at Harry as he ran in a slow line away from her. Each of her spells being absorbed by the shield that still encompassed Harry. She noted that the shield did not deflect spells – they just disappeared when they hit the shield, rendered completely ineffective. As Harry increased the speed of his running the shield stuck with him and didn’t fail to protect him. He was able to run, jump, dodge, duck and roll and it did not falter. They found that it lasted about 7 minutes, Hermione ended up hitting Harry with a disarming spell right when he noticed the humming sound disappeared. She returned his wand to him and they both grinned ecstatically. They both agreed that they needed to be careful using it as 7 minutes was a decent time to cause damage if Harry was to be trapped inside a miscast spell. Not to mention that the spell was long and the wand movements had to be precise. This was a spell to cast in advance where possible, not something that could be done while on the run.

Casting on another human would be risky Hermione had explained to Harry – every living creature has an underlying desire to preserve one’s self, so being focused and truly desiring a shield for yourself was less likely to fail. However, if you cast the spell on someone else it is possible that you may not mean it, even if you think you mean it. Any unresolved feelings, agitation or discourse between you and the individual could result in a harming bubble. They both agreed to only cast the shield on themselves.

Hermione then went through the wand motions and practiced the pronunciation with Harry before attempting the spell herself. She was successful, her spell lasting approximately 5 minutes before Harry hit her with a leg locker curse. She fell face-first to the snow mid-stride and tried to lessen the impact of her landing with her hands.

“Fuck,” she groaned out softly as she tumbled into the snow-covered grass.

“Oh, shit – Hermione!” Harry ran toward her wand out and quickly cast the counter-curse. “I’m sorry!”

He reached out to her and she grabbed his hand, he tugged her up from the ground gently and the loose snow that had collected on her fell to the ground. The snow was thicker now, and she noticed that she could hardly make out the tent that was just a few dozen feet away from them.

“It’s okay Harry,” she breathed, and she steadied herself on her feet next to Harry, before looking up at him with a huge grin. “Bad timing is all – but I figure I’ve got 5 minutes. Harry – this spell is incredible!”

Harry grinned at her, still holding her arm and pulled her into a warm hug. She hugged him back tightly, laughing happily.

This feels amazing, she thought. They finally might have an advantage with this new protection spell, something that could buy them time or give them an edge – something that at the very least, no one would be expecting.

“Harry this is fantastic, this will be so useful,” she looked up at him while he still held her tightly and met his eyes. They were bright, optimistic and happy.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said with a grin as he looked down at her. “I wouldn’t have been able to do this without your help. Thank you for believing that I could do this.”

“Of course, Harry,” she said quietly, her eyes filled with emotion. “I always believe in you, you’re a brilliant wizard. You figured this one out all on your own.”

Harry laughed, tilting his head back a bit before he looked back down at her, still clutching her firmly to his chest. His warmth was spreading through her.

“You give me too much credit,” he said quietly. “You’re the brilliant one.”

Hermione’s heart fluttered in her chest and she could feel her pulse quicken. Oh no, she thought. She couldn’t look away from his eyes, and now the stupid big smile that he had on his face had shifted into something that looked like caring as he stared down at her. She felt her fingers involuntarily grip the back of his jacket tighter and Harry’s own snugged her closer in turn. Her heart beat faster, and she knew she wasn’t breathing. Shit, she thought as panic started to set in at the back of her mind, now’s not the time, you need to focus.

Hermione saw the look in Harry’s eyes deepen into something else, something darker, something with want. She could hardly hear the logical side of her brain anymore as she looked up at Harry and her silly smile fell from her face as a look of wonder mixed with confusion settled in. She could hear her heart beating and feel the tension in the air tighten as the air grew thicker and warmed between them. Despite the snow which still encased them, she felt impossibly warm, and she knew that her cheeks must be dusted in a light blush.

She noticed that Harry’s face was closer to her now, his eyes darkened with intensity and she could make out the different shades of green speckled within them. His face crept infinitesimally closer and her eyes widened. The wind picked up and blew a cold gust around them, she shivered – but she knew it wasn’t because of the wind. It was because of the closeness and the look in Harry’s eyes, the look that said more than she wanted to know, more than she ever expected to see. The look that gave way to so many possibilities that it scared her.

With a last ditched effort from her reasonable side, she tore her eyes from Harry’s and dropped her forehead to his chest. She took a deep breath and then dropped her hands and stepped back from him. The cold encircled her and she shivered once more. Harry let her step away, dropping his arms slowly to his sides, but his eyes followed her. His head was tilted to the side and he was still looking at her with the same wanting eyes – though a veil of curiosity had settled over his face.

“I’m starving,” Hermione spat out pathetically as she looked away again and focused her eyes back to the tent, which she could barely make out through the thick snow. “I’ll go make us some dinner.”

With that she started toward the tent, leaving Harry in the snow-covered grass. He didn’t enter the tent until Hermione had dinner already set out on the table. While preparing the food she remembered that she had been saving three bottles of butterbeer in her bag for a special occasion and still had a large piece of treacle tart. She had completely forgotten about them – it was crazy how living in a tent, moving places every few weeks or days, and being away from civilization made it hard to keep track of time or think about luxuries like butterbeer and sweets. She set two bottles out on the table along with the treacle tart slice just as Harry stepped into the tent.

“Dinner’s ready!” she called over her shoulder as Harry approached the opposite side of the table. She tried to ignore the blush that she knew still covered her cheeks and the slight nervous tremble of her fingers. “And, I have a surprise! I’ve been saving some butterbeer and treacle tart for a special occasion Harry – and after today, with the new shield charm - well it seemed like the perfect occasion.”

She turned to Harry with a nervous smile, fully expecting him to be back to his normal self just like how they behaved after every previous intimate moment – after every touch, every look, and even after their hand holding and lingering moment outside on the cliff by the water. But her heart skipped a beat when she saw that Harry still had the same look on his face as he did outside. The same wanting, dark and curious look that made her stomach turn over and her pulse race once more. Hermione bit her lip – Harry’s eyes tracked the movement and lingered on her mouth for a moment before slowly moving back up to her eyes. She looked down at the table quickly and took her seat.

It was impossible not to see it, the look of desire in his eyes. Breathe, she thought as she tried to calm herself.

“Thanks Hermione,” Harry said quietly before taking his seat at the table, his voice was deeper than usual, it had never sounded like that in all the times he’d spoken to her before. It sounded almost husky and it made her stomach knot. “I can’t believe you’ve been hoarding butterbeer this whole time.”

Hermione laughed awkwardly and forced herself to look up into his eyes, the eyes which spoke volumes.

“Yeah, I sort of forgot about them,” she twisted the sleeve of her sweater with her hand nervously before looking back down to her plate.

She was kicking herself inwardly for her pathetic antics. She was sitting with her best friend Harry at dinner – something that she had done literally thousands of times before – but now with that look in his eyes she couldn’t control her heartbeat or her thoughts. Her mind raced, trying to determine what to do, how to act, what to say.

The tension and thickness from outside the tent had crept its way inside. Every time previous they’d resorted back to their normal function. They'd resumed their normal behaviour and their normal unemotional, un-intense, non-heart thumping atmosphere. But now, her stomach fluttered as she grabbed a roll from the bowl in the center of the table.

I should have made more space, she thought inwardly as she took a bite of her food. It felt like everything from over the last few months had all of a sudden come to a head and she couldn’t process it, she couldn’t manage it. She did not know what to do with it. She’d been burying everything deep down over the last few weeks and convincing herself that his touches and their shared looks and the moments between them weren’t anything special – they weren’t a big deal.

But as they ate dinner more quietly than usual – Harry thanking her for the treacle tart with a look that smouldered so hard she dropped the roll from her mouth – she knew it was a big deal. It was all a fucking big deal, her mind supplied.

Giving up on her roll she pushed some peas around on her plate before she looked up toward Harry’s burning gaze and she felt a familiar knot tighten in her stomach. The one she had started to become accustomed too, the one that came with warmth, a blush and a heat in her lower abdomen. The one that reached deep within her core. She continued to pick at her meal lightly, too nervous to eat, and began talking fast about some of the reading that she had been doing regarding potion brewing in unorthodox situations – reciting books always made her feel more calm.

She had been counting on Harry going back to his normal behaviours – this wasn’t her plan, she’d made no backup.

When Hermione finished explaining her reading she sat quietly looking at her hands as her thoughts spun quickly. Then Harry spoke.

“Dinner was delicious, Hermione.” His voice was still deep and he spoke quieter and slower than normal. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she glanced up toward him and the remainder of her sentence died in her throat at the expression on his face. Her heart began to thud loudly and she realized she wasn’t breathing again.

Averting her eyes completely from Harry's, she once again decided to abandon ship and she stood to clear the dishes, grabbing the plates and walking them to the kitchen to set them on the counter.

She placed both hands firmly on the edge of the counter, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She willed her racing heart to calm down. She tried to breathe, compartmentalize, use her meditation and control her thoughts and emotions – but she felt like her insides were the raging snowstorm that had formed outside. The tent rippled gently around them from the wind and the knot in her stomach doubled. She raised her wand to clean the dishes but froze, eyes shooting wide open and she tensed as she felt Harry approach behind her.

His movements were slow, giving her time to react or move away, again, for the third time that day. But this time – she stood still on her spot, pulse racing and hand clamped tightly on her wand. Her breath hitched in her throat as he closed the space between them. She could feel the heat of his body behind her, he was just an inch away and she felt the air thicken further. He slowly reached his right hand around her and closed it over her wand hand, lowering it back down to the counter.

“It’s my job to do the dishes,” he said quietly, his voice rumbling gently in her right ear as he leaned next to her. “You made dinner.”

A shiver ran down her spine at the closeness and the deep baritone of his voice, she turned to face him – and immediately realized that this was probably not the greatest idea. Facing Harry, she could see the intense look in his eyes. He was searching her face, curiosity written in his eyes, as if looking for the answer to an unasked question. Hermione took an unconscious step backward, her hips collided gently with the kitchen counter behind her and it prevented her movements further. Her eyes widened and she stared at Harry intently as her chest constricted. His eyes were bright, the green shining and the intensity suffocating. He took a step toward her, his left hand coming to rest lightly on her hip while his right raised up toward her face.

She wasn’t breathing. She was sure her face was burning bright and the heat within her body grew.

He stepped the final half-step toward her to close the distance between them, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His right hand was resting gently near the left side of her face and he brushed a loose curl behind her ear – without thinking she leaned her head into his hand. Her eyes followed his as they roamed over her.

Words were lost to her. She couldn’t hear herself think.

“Hemione?” he said just above a whisper as he leaned forward towards her.

“Yes, Harry?” The words that came from her lips were so quiet he wouldn’t have heard them if he wasn’t mere inches from her face now.

“Do you want me to stop?” His words were clear, but his voice was husky. He was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her face.

The room felt small, the air was tight, her chest had constricted, and her brain was short-circuiting – providing nothing but nonsense. She couldn’t stop the hot tight coil that had wound up in her lower abdomen, that burned from her core. Before she even realized that she’d said it, the words fell from her lips.

“No.”

Then Harry kissed her, closing the inch between them and capturing her lips with his. His lips were soft, and they moved against hers gently, slowly, with a sense of uncertainty. She inhaled sharply as their lips met. He broke contact with her briefly only to lock his lips more firmly to hers.

Heat flooded through her body, her heart was hammering, and her legs started to tremble. Harry stepped into her, gripping her hip with his left hand and stroking the side of her face with his right before turning his head to kiss her more deeply. She placed one trembling hand on his chest, clutching the fabric of his sweater tightly in her fist and her opposite hand grabbed the side of his sweater.

Her mind was blank, her body was stiff with nervousness, her heart pounded and her insides burned with the heat that was emanating from her core. Their kiss quickened, becoming sure and desperate. Harry traced his tongue along her bottom lip and she opened her mouth to him, allowing him entrance. He took his time, tasting her, running his tongue over the inside of her mouth, familiarizing himself with her and she let out a soft moan into his mouth.

His grip on her hip tightened at the sound and he stepped forward once more, pressing himself up against her, pushing her hips into the counter behind her. He groaned when she nibbled his bottom lip softly and the intensity of their kiss escalated. Both now grasping each other tightly, Harry’s hand tangled in Hermione’s hair as she clutched desperately at his sweater, her knees weak as she clung to him. He parted her legs with his knee and pushed his thigh between hers.

Another moan fell from her lips. She felt like her whole body was on fire, she burned at their contact but she craved more - needed more. The tight familiar coil at her core wound further. Harry kissed her deeply, passionately, and it became more aggressive with each breath. Hermione tangled her tongue with Harry’s clutching him tightly like she was afraid to let go. Harry’s hand moved from her hair to her neck, his thumb rubbing small circles into her as it went. The feverish pace of their kiss made her feel like she was on the edge of an explosion and she felt an old forgotten pulse between her thighs. Harry’s leg pushed into her again and she groaned out desperately against his hard body, her core aching for more closeness. Harry’s hand on her waist gripped her tighter and his thumb slipped under the hem of her sweater. He slowly brought it up her side until it grazed across the scar on her ribs.

She flinched violently as she felt his thumb drag over her middle scar and the twitch of his hand. He’d touched the scar that ended just over her right ribs and their kiss broke. She dropped her head down, breathing hard and fast, having let go of Harry’s sweater to clutch at her own chest. Her legs were trembling and she shook slightly.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed quickly, afraid to look up. Her heart was hammering and the heat between her legs was throbbing, begging for Harry to press into her again - but her mind had been ripped away by the touch against her scar and a new wave of emotion started to pour through her. She felt sick.

“Hermione,” Harry said, his voice ragged, his hand already removed from her side to rest gently on her upper arm. “I’m sorry – I – I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry – I got carried away.”

He had known as soon as he’d done it, the second he’d felt the rough skin under his thumb he knew he'd made a mistake. A stupid, stupid mistake. He groaned inwardly, dropping his head and giving it a shake. She was still looking at his chest, breathing uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly, shoulders dropped and unmoving.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly as the hand on her chest twitched.

“No,” Harry said with a sigh, taking a step back and dropping his hands from her. “It was stupid on my part, I’m sorry Hermione. I wasn’t thinking.”

Slowly Hermione raised her head to look at him, she gave him a small and broken smile. Harry’s heart dropped – her eyes were glassy. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips red and swollen and Harry couldn’t help but think she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen – and yet his heart felt like it was breaking as he looked at her. He’d done this. He’d brought those tears to her eyes. I’m a fucking idiot.

“It’s okay Harry,” she said feigning confidence. Dropping the hand that clutched her chest to stand a bit straighter she cleared her throat. “I – I’m just still, not used to them being there. They’re not – I don’t – It’s not–” her voice was starting to falter, and her eyes averted down once more.

“I don’t look the same – they’re not pleasant – it just – it made me remember it all. I’m sorry - you didn’t do anything wrong,” the words poured out of her quickly and he could see her shoulders start to shake.

Harry took another step back to give Hermione space and ran a hand through his hair in frustration, he had no idea what the fuck to say.

“I uh, I’m going to go shower,” she said quickly as she stepped away from him and walked on unsteady feet to the bathroom.

Hermione closed the bathroom door quickly behind her and sunk against its backside – while Harry stood in the kitchen with both hands clenched in his hair before dropping his head heavily to the kitchen counter in frustration.

Fuck, they both thought.

Hermione ran both hands over her hair. Her heart was still hammering and she felt dizzy as the realization of what just happened hit her.

She touched her lips cautiously and pushed off the door to look in the full-length mirror. Her hair was a mess from Harry’s hands, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips puffy. Her sweater hung lopsided, sagging to one side so she could see the top scar peeking out just above her collar bone. Her eyes narrowed at it as a wave of anger and sadness hit her and she felt the hot tears she’d been holding back begin to fall down her face.

Angrily she ripped her shirt off over her head and she stared back at her reflection. It was horrible. It was unchanged from the day she awoke after the attack. Ignoring the ball that tightened at the base of her throat she raised a trembling hand up to run her fingers over the marks. Her skin was rough and bumpy – with raised and lowered places where the torn skin had healed unevenly due to the dark magic. Her stomach lurched and she screamed inwardly at the reflection of her scars. FUCK these fucking scars! Goddammit! Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, it ached, and she retched as a sob escaped her.

When Harry had touched her distorted skin, it raised a wave of panic like a tsunami. She’d flinched as her body remembered the pain, the agony, the blood, the fear, lying in the grass thinking she would die, the look in his eyes when he saw her and her deep disgust with her permanent markings. The disgust that she had been able to ignore and pretend wasn’t there up until this point.

She turned toward the shower and turned it on more aggressively than necessary, casting a quick heating charm before she rapidly removed the remainder of her clothes and entered the shower stall. She spent several minutes in the shower angrily scrubbing herself and cursing her scars before she started to calm herself down. Forcing herself to breathe and meditate.

When her breathing finally regulated she worked her way through her emotions. She was frustrated, angry, upset, sad, confused and now absolutely sexually pent-up from the intense kiss she’d just shared with Harry. She groaned in frustration, dropping her head heavily against the stall wall. Her emotions were raging like a loose bludger inside her head and it was making it ache. So much for doing nothing with the situation, she thought pathetically as she rinsed her curls out under the water. More so than that – so much for not caring about my scars, she spat angrily.

As she washed, her mind raced with a hundred questions over what just happened. What would this do to their relationship? How would this impact their mission? What did he think when he touched them? What did this mean? How would they behave now that they’d kissed? What would have happened if I didn’t stop – if I didn’t have these scars that made me stop?  It had been so intense, so passionate, so heated. Hermione had never kissed anyone like that before. She remembered Viktor’s clumsy lips when he had kissed her in 4^th year. It had been wet, sloppy, and inexperienced and her body had not reacted like this.

Nothing she’d ever experienced had been like this.

The questions raced through her head as the hot water continued to pour over her. She briefly tried to convince herself that it wasn’t a big deal, they were both just sexually pent up from being in a tent. In her heart though, she knew that wasn’t the case. Of course it’s a fucking big deal, she seethed. She knew that there was something deeper going on – and that made her feel even worse. If what happened mattered, then it meant that she had to acknowledge that there were real feelings. Real feelings, her feelings, that could get hurt. What if Harry doesn’t want me because of my mangled chest?  What if he is disgusted by it? I’m disgusted by it – because it’s fucking DISGUSTING!  This made a part of her feel like it was dying.

She dropped her head in her hands as her shoulders shook and the hot water poured down her back, pooling at her feet. She never considered herself an overly attractive girl to start with, but now it killed her to think of what must have gone through Harry’s head when he touched her, when he felt it. When his hand twitched, she remembered with a pain in her chest. She knew Harry wasn’t judgmental on looks but… everyone had limits. She wasn’t exactly going to be anyone’s top pick. And his hand had twitched.

She had been concerned about this moment the second she saw the scars – at the time she didn’t think it would happen with Harry – but she figured it would happen eventually. She knew that someone would see it, someone would touch it - eventually. She groaned, she knew it was pathetic, immature and vain – but the truth was the scars had shattered her self confidence in her appearance and made her anxious about being intimate or exposed with anyone. She was still confident in herself and her ability and so long as she kept her sweaters on, she was able to forget that the scars were there and just be herself. But Harry’s touch had brought everything racing back – all of it – not just her anxiety and insecurity about her appearance but also the memories from the night she was attacked and it had thrown her more than she could have ever anticipated. She thought that she had dealt with this, but now she was realizing that she’d only pushed everything down into a dark corner of her mind.

Finishing her shower, she dressed slowly, back into her same clothes – having been too focused on escaping the kitchen to remember to grab a new set. So, she opted for a quick cleaning charm before putting them back on.

Standing with one hand on the bathroom door she thumped her head gently against it. She didn’t know what to do. She’d just snogged Harry Potter - her best friend – rather intensely, she noted. And I liked it, she thought – a lot. She didn’t know where they both stood. She didn’t know how he felt. She didn't know how to walk out of this bathroom and look at him - and she didn’t know what to do about it.

Her hand trembled slightly as she held the doorknob and she tried to push everything back down. Including her new memory, the one of Harry’s hand twitching as he touched her, the moment he felt her scar. She thumped her head one last time loudly before she twisted the doorknob to exit the bathroom.

Harry stood hunched over, elbows on the counter with his hands weaved tightly through his hair. He could hear the water running in the bathroom and he was mentally berating himself.

Fuck, fuck fuck, fuck, fuck! SO fucking stupid! You are so fucking stupid! He sighed heavily and stood up looking to the ceiling, chest tight with frustration. I can’t believe I just did that. I can’t believe I touched her without thinking.

Harry groaned outward and slammed his fist into the counter. After everything that had happened, all the moments between them – the touches, the looks, the closeness – he had finally kissed her. She had finally not run away. And then, he thought, I completely fucked it up like a major arse.

Since the night on the cliff when he had shared with her that he slept in a cupboard at the Dursley’s house he knew that the relationship between them had changed – at least it had from his side. He’d never told that detail about his life to anyone, never trusted a single person enough to tell them that he blamed himself for the deaths of those around him but yet wanted to stay in the wizarding world. He’d never told anyone how terrible he felt about it, how blatantly guilty. The second he had stared into her eyes – he knew. He knew that he would never be able to look at her the same again. 

He had wanted to kiss her right then and there, but he had held back, and kissed her cheek instead. He was unsure of his new feelings and nervous that she might not feel the same. Hermione was incredibly logical, reserved and controlled, and Harry highly suspected that she would have reservations about acknowledging any feelings – whether for him or otherwise – while in the middle of a war. He was also concerned that the feelings might be one-sided.

So, Harry decided to watch Hermione. He watched her behaviours, cataloged her touches, her looks and her expressions – and slowly over the last month he began to notice a pattern. And he began to think that she might actually feel something too. 

She’d touch his arm when they spoke, sit close to him, lean her head on his shoulder, tangle her legs with his, blush and look to the ground when he complimented her, and he often saw her looking at him out of the corner of his eye while he read. When she let him crawl onto her bunk and sit with her while she was not feeling well, he took a risk and decided to run his thumb over her knee after she rested her legs across his – trusting her to object if she didn’t want the contact. But she didn’t object. When she took his hand during the meteor shower, his confidence in her feeling the same grew even further. It was impossible not to notice how the air got thicker around them, how time seemed to slow down and how her pulse quickened.

So, when they had successfully tested the shield spell, he was so ecstatic that he couldn’t stop himself from drawing her into a tight hug. He’d felt her heart racing as he held her, saw the blush creep over her face, the look in her eyes while she stared at him – and then he was certain, he knew that she felt it too. He was going to kiss her out in the snow if she let him, but he saw the panic rise in her face when her mind registered what was happening and she chickened out and ran back to the tent.

Harry had stood in the snow for several minutes thinking, wondering what to do, how to proceed. Every time that happened previously, he had spared her nerves and pulled his face into a calm and typical expression before looking at her again. He gave her room because he didn’t want to push her. But today… well today, he wanted to confirm his suspicions. He wanted to know, he wanted her to acknowledge the situation that had developed between them and he wanted to see if she would accept an advance. He would never push her into anything uncomfortable, and he would never make her do anything she didn’t want to – but he wanted to see if she would acknowledge what was going on between them. So, he resolved to go back to the tent exactly as he was – to show her his emotions in full, to show her what he wanted.

During dinner she had been adorable, nervous and flustered and he thoroughly enjoyed the butterbeer and treacle tart she had placed out for them. When she abandoned ship for the second time that day to take the dishes to the counter, he could see the tension in her shoulders and feel the inner battle she was clearly waging. So, he decided to see what would happen if he pushed once more, gently, while still giving her room to escape if she wanted too. If she ran away again, he would drop it until this mess of a war was over.

But she didn’t run – she stayed. As he had approached her, closing the distance between them his heart was pounding and his body was rigid with nervousness. When he asked her if she wanted him to stop, the tension was palpable and he felt his heart was hanging in the balance, he didn’t know if he would be able to handle it if she rejected him. He’d respect it, but a small part of him would feel like it had been snuffed out. When he heard her say “no” – he couldn’t close the distance between them quick enough. She tasted like hope, like a cool drink on a hot summer day. 

He moved slowly against her first, afraid to startle her away, afraid to push her too far and make her uncomfortable, terrified that this unreal dream would vanish before him. He wanted her to be sure. But the second he heard her moan, any nerves he’d been feeling faded away, pushed to the back of his mind quickly and their kiss escalated. It had been… well, it had been like nothing he had ever felt. His kisses with Ginny had never felt like this, his kiss with Cho was a joke in comparison. Honestly, he didn’t even think he could count that kiss with Cho as a kiss anymore. This was heated, desperate, passionate, like gasping for air after being held underwater. He needed her, wanted her, had to be closer and wanted to soak every inch of her into him.

Then without thinking, he ran his thumb under her shirt and over her scar – the second he felt it, his mind skipped, and he jerked his hand. Not because of the texture, not because he cared about them – no – no, it was nothing like that. His hand jerked because he felt a pang in his heart as he touched it and he knew he had just made a mistake. He’d felt her start to flinch the second his thumb grazed it and momentarily he thought if he moved his hand away quick enough, he would be able to do some damage control. But she’d flinched hard and pulled away so fast that he knew it was a lost cause. Instead she left his lips feeling lost and hungry while his mind chastised his action.  

And then to top it all off she apologized to him first. She fucking apologized to me, he raged as he paced in the kitchen back and forth along the counter. When I was the one who fucked up and made a mistake!

She had nothing to apologize for, nothing. He was the one who got caught up in the moment, caught up in the feel of her body against his, the heat between them and the intensity of their kiss. He was the one who had touched her without thinking, without considering how it would make her feel. I’m lucky she didn’t have a full-blown panic attack, he thought bitterly as he thumped back into his kitchen chair and thought about how she had reacted. He’d been concerned about Hermione since the day the injury happened. She had healed well and was stronger than ever – but wounds are more than physical. And based on the high-necked sweaters she continued to wear day and night he didn’t doubt that she still struggled with her appearance and acceptance of the scars. Not that he ever expected her to parade them around – but she took exceptional care in ensuring that they were always hidden.

What am I going to do? He’d dropped his head back into his hands again, elbows now resting on his knees.

He needed to apologize to her, he needed to explain to her that he didn’t care about her scars – he didn’t care how she looked. He had only just finally kissed her… and he did not want to ruin it because he had screwed up. He needed to explain how he felt to her, he needed her to know that he was there for her, always, and that the scars didn’t matter. He wanted her. He wanted to know what could happen between them.

He knew the conversation would be difficult. Honestly, he wouldn’t be shocked if she stayed in the bathroom all night. He couldn’t imagine what was going through her head – and if she did come out, she would probably try to dismiss it and avoid talking about it. He’d considered this, but he needed to talk about it. They needed to talk about it. They couldn’t live together in a tent hunting Horcruxes and walking on eggshells around each other. They needed to have the communication lines open, trust each other and work together. If Hermione never wanted to touch him again going forward – fine, he could deal with that. It would be painful, but he would manage. But he was absolutely not willing to sacrifice and hurt their relationship over this. After everything they had been through together this was not going to ruin their incredible dynamic. He needed to ensure she wouldn’t be worrying that he might be disgusted by her scars – which was absurd.

He finally heard the water shut off as his mind settled on his course of action. I’m not a fucking coward, he thought with determination. I will not fuck this up further, I will fix this.

He stood quickly and walked to the sink, grabbing the kettle, filling it with water and tapping it quickly with his wand to get it boiling. He reached in the cupboard and grabbed two clean mugs, throwing tea bags in them and then dumped the magically boiled water into each cup. He added one milk and two sugars to Hermione’s before adding a single sugar to his own. He had the mugs settled on the table and he was seated in his chair, back straight and determined when he heard the bathroom door open.

-x-x-

Hermione stepped out of the steaming room and walked on trembling legs toward the kitchen. She wasn’t sure what to expect, how Harry would be behaving, if he would be still in the kitchen or if he’d be out somewhere else. She honestly had no idea how to behave. She kept her eyes on the floor until she approached the table to see Harry stand up from his normal chair. Two steaming mugs of tea sat in the middle – she felt her heart thump painfully and noticed that he looked determined and slightly desperate.

“The shower is free,” she spoke quietly as her eyes flittered around Harry’s. She didn’t know where to look, she was nervous, and she felt her wand hand tremble. She grabbed the hem of her sweater gently, running the fabric between her thumb and finger to try and calm her nerves.

“Hermione,” Harry said. His voice was soft but firm and called her eyes back to his with force. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you like that without asking first.”

“Harry – it’s fine, it’s not a big deal I-“ she responded quickly waving her hand to dismiss him but he cut her off.

“No, it’s not fine. Nothing about it was fine Hermione.” He was looking at her intently and had walked around the table to stand several feet in front of her. “I know that you’re uncomfortable with your scars, I know they make you self-conscious – I wasn’t thinking. I was so caught up in – in whatever this is that has been going on between us that I didn’t think. I didn’t think about how touching you might make you feel.”

Hermione hadn’t looked away from Harry, she was still snared by his gaze, but she flinched slightly as Harry mentioned her scars. She tried to dismiss the conversation, she didn’t want to hear excuses – she’d felt him flinch, she didn’t want to talk about this. She didn’t know what it was that she wanted but she didn’t want to talk.

“Harry it’s fine, really, I don’t want to talk about this,” she had wrapped her arms around herself, defensively covering her chest.

“But I do Hermione.” He stood his ground firmly in front of her, ensuring that he gave her plenty of space. “I’m not going to let what happened ruin our relationship, I’m not going to let this sit and fester – I want you to know that I don’t care about your scars.”

Hermione snorted, scuffing the tent floor with one socked foot before turning her eyes to the ground.

“I don’t,” he said firmly, and she could feel the intensity of his gaze on her. “Do you think I’ll ever forget what you looked like lying in the muddy grass Hermione. The image of you torn open haunts my dreams – I’ll never un-see it. It fucking killed me to see you like that. I thought I was going to lose you.”

Tears had started to form in her eyes, her vision wavered as she stared down at her thick fuzzy blue socks. She knew Harry had seen them, but he had still flinched when he touched her. She didn’t want to hear this – she didn’t want to talk about this. She didn’t even know what this was.

“I’ve already seen them – I treated them, I had to pull the shredded bits of your shirt and jacket out of them. I saw what they looked like at their worst, I’ll never forget it, and I still want you,” he said. Hermione twitched at this – but she shook her head as her shoulders began to tremble and Harry pushed forward, his voice rising slightly. “I don’t care about what your scars look like. The only thing I care about is you, Hermione – and the fact that I’m a fucking idiot and didn’t consider how you would react, how you would feel when I touched you. It’s not like I haven't noticed that you’ve transfigured every shirt you own into a high neck sweater, I have no excuse for not thinking about it, I just got caught up in the moment. I only pulled my hand away because I realized my mistake and I felt you flinch – I knew I couldn’t fix it. But I touched you because I wanted to.”

At this Hermione’s eyes shot up to Harry’s as a single tear fell down her cheek. Harry was looking at her with a look of agony and Hermione’s heart stuttered in her chest. He flinched because he was, concerned? Her mind reeled over his words and she found herself trying to wrap her head around the possibility that Harry hadn’t flinched in disgust.

“You don’t have to believe me Hermione – but I need you to know that I want you, I want to figure this out and I don’t care about your scars.”

A small sound escaped her lips that sounded like a suppressed sob and Harry stepped toward her slowly as Hermione continued to clutch herself. Her chest was constricting again – no, she thought, how could he want me.

“I don’t – I don’t know how you feel Hermione, I don’t know what’s been going through your head these last few weeks, but I feel like things have changed between us.” He clenched his hands tightly at his sides and his nerves hit him as he approached the real crux of his speech. “And I know you’ve felt it too. I’ve seen it on your face… in how you look at me.”

His voice dropped lower as he stepped only but a foot away from her now and Hermione dropped her eyes to stare into his chest, unable to breathe.

“If I’m wrong, or if you aren’t comfortable with anything – if you don’t want anything – that’s okay Hermione.” He tentatively reached a hand out to touch her shoulder and she could feel a slight tremble in his fingers. “I don’t know what shifted between us. And I don’t know what this means for us going forward – but I need you to know that I don’t care about your scars Hermione. I just care about you and – and I want to see where this could go.”

A sob broke through her lips and Harry barely heard the quiet words that escaped her.

“…I’m disgusting...”

Harry let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and pulled her shoulder gently towards him, and she let her head fall on his chest. Her arms were still clutched to her own body and they were now pinned between them as he circled his arms tightly around her and rested his lips to the top of her head.

“Hermione,” he breathed out in a hush. “You are not disgusting. They are not disgusting.”

He felt her tremble slightly and her head shook gently against his chest. He pulled her tighter and leaned his lips down toward her ear.

“Hermione, you are perfect. You’re – you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

She stiffened but stopped shaking her head against him and he heard her inhale quickly.

“You’re just saying that,” she whispered.

“No, I’m not.” He pulled her tighter to his chest and breathed out a long low sigh. “I swear to you, I’m not just saying that. I know you don’t believe me – not yet – but I’m not lying. And I’d like the opportunity to show you how little I care about them.”

Hermione stood still against him, the last words he spoke were barely above a whisper and they made a chill run down her spine. Her stomach knotted, he’d spoken in that voice – the deep baritone that had made the heat in her core ignite earlier. She shivered against him, his words and his voice were convincing, they made her body respond and believe that he meant what he said.

She buried her face into his chest, breathing him in. It calmed her. His warmth and the tightness with which he held her made her feel safe.  She trusted Harry implicitly, she always had, and she desperately wanted to believe him – it was difficult against the chant of how could he want me? that was circling at the back of her head – but she forced her mind to stick to logic, to facts. He had already seen them, she knew this, and he did touch her anyway. He had noticed the closeness between them and allowed it to grow while knowing she was mangled. He’d touched her, held her, and been close to her all the while knowing that she was hiding under her transfigured sweaters. She willed the voice in her head which kept claiming he must have forgotten how bad they were and was reminded when he touched them to shut the hell up and worked to clear her mind.

This was her problem, and she knew it. She knew Harry, she trusted Harry and he wouldn’t be holding her like this and speaking with that voice if he didn’t mean it. She wanted to believe him – had to believe him, or at least give him the benefit of the doubt until proven wrong. She needed to deal with her low self-confidence regarding the scars on her own – this was her problem to resolve.  

Her stomach knotted a little as she nuzzled her nose against him softly. She’d enjoyed the feel of Harry’s body against hers – obviously. My moaning is a testament to that, she thought somewhat embarrassed. She’d never made those sounds before. She’d liked the way he tasted, the way he'd moved against her, and the way he’d held her and pressed into her. She too wanted to see where things would go – except that it scared her.

They were in the middle of a war, they had a huge responsibility to find Horcruxes and destroy them before Voldemort got stronger, before things got worse – and they had no idea where to start. They needed to be focused, they needed to practice and be prepared. She didn’t think it was appropriate to explore a change in their relationship right now – no matter how badly she wanted to, or how right it felt. That was the whole reason why she had resolved to do nothing. This kiss, no matter how pleasant, was distracting. Anything more than snogging would be even more distracting – and they could not afford to be distracted. That would be irresponsible – and Hermione was nothing if not responsible.

Harry had stood holding her while her mind sifted through her thoughts, it was several minutes before she spoke again with a tremble in her voice.

“Harry I – I’m afraid,” she breathed out against him, her voice but a mummer against his sweater. “I’m afraid of this – I don’t want to lose what we have. I – I don’t want to get distracted from our mission and what we need to do, but –“

The words caught in her throat and she trembled slightly against him. She knew what she wanted to say but her courage was faltering. Harry had just all but laid his heart out on the table to her – Don’t be a coward she thought as she tried to settle her racing mind.

“I’m afraid that you won’t actually want me if – if you saw it. I know what you said, and I know that you’ve seen them – I know that this is my problem and it’s in my head – but I can’t help it. I can’t help but be terrified that you’d change your mind. W-when you touched me it – it made me panic,” she said, and her voice shook again before she continued. “It brought everything back Harry, all of it, and I – I don’t know how to be comfortable with it, or how to deal with it.”

Cautiously she raised her head to look at him and he loosened his grip so he could pull back to see her face more clearly.

“Harry, I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know what this is – we’re in the middle of a war – we need to focus but I – I–” She looked at him desperately before speaking in a low whisper. “But I can’t help but want you too.”

Harry’s heart hammered in his chest and his hands gripped her more firmly – she’d said that she wanted him too.

“I don’t know how to process this Harry.” She took a step back but gripped the front of his sweater gently with one hand. “Harry what happened was… it was intense I – I don’t know if we can – I don’t know if it is a good idea. Not that I don’t want to, I do – I’m just not sure that we should – we need to focus and be responsible. We need to find these Horcruxes. I’m worried that if we do anything, anything other than what we have been it will be a distraction. And I clearly need to deal with these scars and with what happened. I don’t want to fuck this up Harry.”

Harry nodded slowly, he understood. It made his heart ache a little, but it was exactly what he was expecting. While he didn’t know if they were destined to be with each other forever, he did know that he cared for her in a way that he had never cared about anyone previously – not even the way he thought he felt about Ginny.

“Hermione,” he said gently, moving his thumb gently over her upper arm. “It’s okay. I get it – things are all over the place right now.”

She nodded slowly, still gripping him tight and searching his face.

“I don’t want things to change between us.” He looked at her intently and then gave her a small smile. “I’ll be right here, always, whenever you need me – whenever or if ever you want me. I won’t ever push for anything Hermione and I promise to give you space to deal with what you need to. But – I want you to know I…I would like to figure this out, to see where this goes. This, Hermione, is exactly why we’re fighting. It’s exactly why Remus and Tonks – and Fleur and Bill are together as they are even though we’re at war. It makes them stronger – it gives them something to fight for… just something to think about.”

Hermione’s hand twitched slightly against his sweater and her eyes dropped. She hadn’t thought of that. The only thing that had been running through her mind aside from her panic over her scars was the danger of her and Harry being too close while they were on a mission. She had never considered that allowing closeness could be seen as a benefit. She’d only ever considered the negative.

“Let’s have some tea,” Harry said gently as he pulled himself away and she let his sweater slip through her fingers. She felt cold again, without him near and watched as he backed up toward the table, giving her an encouraging smile.

Harry sat down lightly in his seat, ensuring that his feet were tucked neatly under his chair. There, he thought as he reached for his tea mug. I made the first move, I’ve confirmed that she feels it too, and now it’s her decision how we go forth. I won’t push anything else, I’ll leave this to her.

Slowly she walked toward him to take her seat. True to his word, she noticed that his knees did not bump hers under the table – it feels empty, she noted. Harry reheated the tea mugs with his wand and fished a small bag of biscuits out of her purse before taking a bite of one himself.

They ate and drank their tea somewhat quietly, Hermione nibbling the biscuits and listening to Harry talk about how he thought he could work to extend his protection charm. She nodded her head and responded to the conversation, but the thoughts in the back of her mind churned on a different topic. She couldn’t stop herself from mulling over the possibility that being with Harry and seeing what was between them, might - maybe not be a bad thing during these terrible times.

-x-x-

The next week passed rather uneventfully and their typical schedule was unchanged. Hermione and Harry resumed their exercise routine, read, researched, practiced spells, duelled, ate, slept, guarded the tent in turns and managed to increase their shielding spell time by 2 minutes each. Harry could now produce a full body mobile shield for 9 minutes and Hermione could manage 7 minutes before the hum disappeared and they were once again left vulnerable. Harry had been right, the stronger they became physically, the easier the shield was to produce as the shield seemed to be linked to their overall stamina. Hermione had suggested clearing their minds before casting it almost as a sort of meditation to ensure focus on the target and intent. That seemed to make the spell more potent – she noted that the dark purple became deeper the better their concentration was, and it contributed to its duration as well. They determined if they kept at it they should be able to continue to increase the duration of their shields and made a goal of each reaching over 10 minutes.

Outside, the snow continued to fall and gathered deeply around their tent. Seeing as it was the last weekend in November, they fully expected the weather to continue to get worse – so they opted to use more water-repelling charms and warming charms while they practiced outside, unwilling to sacrifice their training due to bad weather.

One thing that had changed, Hermione noted, was the touches and closeness between them – or rather, the lack thereof. Harry had not faltered on his promise to give her space. He no longer sat exactly right next to her while they had tea, and instead sat a friendly distance away. He didn’t touch her lower back when he walked around her or reach to grab her hand while they spoke. No, Harry had consciously worked to ensure he kept his hands and feet to himself. He even stopped using the footstool so that Hermione could have the thing entirely to herself.

As the time went on though Hermione couldn’t help but miss the contact. While she appreciated Harry giving her space and staying determinedly focused on their mission – she was actually finding it more distracting having to think about her actions and keep her hands to herself than it was to simply let herself be near him naturally. She found herself thinking that their closeness and previous behaviours had felt normal whereas this artificial distance between them was what felt off and strange. She didn’t speak anything about it to Harry, but she mulled it over as each day passed. She missed his warmth, she missed feeling his laugh reverberate through her as he leaned against her. Their interactions were still warm and kind and her feelings were still obviously present, it was just as if someone had put up a barrier between them… and she found that she didn’t really like it.

As they rounded to the second week Hermione started forcing herself to not only stare at her scarred reflection in the mirror when she went to shower but also to touch the scars gently. She repeated this process whenever she changed clothes as well. She had gotten used to tolerating the scars while she showered but she had never actually spent any time with them to accept them. After her excessive reaction to Harry’s touch – she could no longer ignore the fact that she had not spent a sufficient enough time actually dealing with what happened and accepting her injuries, so she resolved to correct that regardless of whether or not anyone would ever see them. She forced herself not to frown when she looked at them – instead she forced her lips into a smile while reminding herself of the things that she liked about herself and the things that she was happy for. I’m glad I didn’t die, was the first thought she conjured.

After that a string of others ran through her head and she found that day by day it was easier and easier to think of things. I’m happy I didn’t lose any limbs. I’m happy that the scars run in between my breasts and not through them, that would have been much worse. I’m happy that there are no lingering dark magic effects. I’m happy that it wasn’t my face. I’m happy that I can cover them if I want to. I’m thankful that I still have my magic. I’m glad that the redness and distortion held so close to the scars themselves and that it didn’t span out to cover more of my skin, so it’s just three distinct lines. I’m thankful that they healed and won’t break open again. I’m happy that I’m physically fit and able to still move around without hindrance. I’m glad there is no permanent damage to my body that disadvantaged me.

By the time December 5^th rolled around Hermione was standing in front of the mirror thinking, I’m happy that I still look decent. And at that, she found herself smiling the first genuine smile she had made during this exercise – no longer having to force the smile to her face while she stared at the marks which covered her body. Perhaps she’d just become more accustomed to them, more used to them being there from staring at them intently over the last week and a bit – but she couldn’t help but feel like they didn’t look quite as bad anymore. She grinned at the foggy mirror and then reached for her long-sleeved dark charcoal grey sweater, it used to be a modest v-neck, but she had transfigured it to a turtleneck after the attack. She rolled the fabric through her fingers. She hated this long-sleeved shirt as a turtleneck, mostly because she wasn’t a big fan of turtlenecks, but also because this shirt’s fabric always seemed to itch her neck a little more than her other ones. She shrugged her plaid pajama pants on while she stared the long-sleeved charcoal sweater down, pausing her hand as she grabbed to put it on.

With a moment's hesitation she transfigured the sweater back to its original shape and threw it on, pausing only a moment when she caught her reflection in the mirror – you could see the top scar cut across the bottom of the v-shaped neck. Not by a large amount, but it was plainly visible. She quickly grabbed a hair clip and clipped her hair out of her face. She was tired of sleeping in turtlenecks and high-necked shirts – they were uncomfortable and always made her feel like she was being choked while she slept. She wanted to be comfortable. It was over 2 months since the attack, and frankly she thought, I’d like a night of sleep where I don’t have dreams of being choked or smothered. She turned to the door before she could change her mind.

When she walked into the kitchen to have her nightly tea with Harry he looked up as he heard her approach – his eyes only just briefly registering her v-neck shirt. His eyes flicked to her chest, then up to her eyes and a look she couldn’t quite decipher crossed his face. Her stomach rolled over nervously as she started to regret her decision and her dark grey socked feet slowed – immediately becoming self-conscious, her hand instinctively raising to grab the collar of her shirt. But then she realized that Harry was grinning at her – beaming would probably be a better way to describe it. His eyes were on hers, not her chest, and he didn’t look away from them as he spoke.

“Made your tea,” he said with happiness, she noted a slight edge of excitement in his voice.

Hermione took a breath and forced her hand to lower from where it hovered in front of her chest with fingers still outstretched mid grab, and then she made her feet keep walking. Harry’s eyes remained on her face only.

“Thank you.” Her voice was a bit reserved with nervousness, but he saw her shoulders relax a fraction as she took her seat.

“Of course.” He continued to grin at her but grabbed his own mug and took a sip. “So, I went through our supply list while you were in the shower.”

Hermione smiled as she grabbed her own mug. Harry was probably the only person she would trust to properly update and catalogue their supply list and she was very pleased that he’d taken the initiative to look at it himself. Prior to Ron leaving she seemed to be the only one concerned with ensuring they had food and supplies. But now… well, now Harry was a very different person. They both were.

“Thanks, Harry, we’re going to need to do another run again aren’t we?”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded at her.

“I figured as much, I’ve been keeping track of it mentally,” she sighed as she held her mug tightly in her fingers. “I suppose we should do that before we leave this hillside. There is a small town just to the East. We can slip in tomorrow night before we leave and get supplies.”

“That’s what I was thinking as well.” Harry had pulled out her map and spread it on the table. “If we pack up around midnight, we can walk there by 2 am and gather whatever we need.”

They discussed through the plan and agreed they would leave the snowy hillside they’d come to three days ago tomorrow night. Hermione couldn’t help the nervous tremble that overtook her hands as they continued to plan their approach – they would be breaking into a chain grocery store located in a small plaza at the edge of town. She sincerely hoped that her face didn’t betray her and express the anxiety that she had over what happened last time they went to get supplies.

As she went to go take first watch Harry gently grabbed her arm. It was the first time he had touched her since they’d kissed two weeks ago, and her body responded desperately. She could feel her pulse racing as she looked into his eyes.

“Hermione, we’ll be okay.” he was looking at her intently. “We’re better prepared this time. Nothing is going to happen tomorrow night. I promise.”

“I know,” she said. Her voice was quiet and sounded unsure, so she added a firm nod to show her agreement.

Harry smiled and squeezed her arm firmly before he turned to go to his bunk. Hermione stood there for a moment before she realized that she was holding the upper arm that Harry had touched with her other hand. Shaking her head, she grabbed her winter jacket and went to stand outside the tent for her first watch. Her heart was racing, and her stomach was knotted. Harry’s touch had done this, and the look that had been in his eyes when he promised that nothing would happen made her shiver. She sat on a small tree stump and cast a warming charm before curling into herself a bit. She was still nervous – she couldn’t help it. But Harry was right. They were far better prepared if they were to be attacked and she felt confident that they would keep each other safe. She trusted Harry, she trusted her own abilities and she knew that they would be fine.

-x-x-

The next day passed like a blur. They’d gathered and packed early and spent the afternoon practicing some defensive and offensive magic. It helped calm Hermione’s nerves as she waited for midnight – she was anxious to get this done and over with. When midnight finally arrived, they packed up the tent quickly and efficiently and began walking toward the town. Harry’s estimate was almost bang on, they arrived at the plaza just before 2 am.

The plaza was deserted, and the fluffy snow fell heavily around them. When they got within 200 meters of the plaza they’d covered themselves with the invisibility cloak before proceeding through the empty parking lot and around to the back alleyway to enter the emergency exit door. They were both tense, and Hermione gripped the back of Harry’s jacket tightly at the collar as he led them through the alley and then unlocked the door. It was quiet, calm and beautiful out – but Hermione knew better than to trust it. She knew better than to let her guard down. Not this time, she thought as they crept through the door.

They spent over an hour in the store, following the same routine they had the last time they got supplies. Gathering much-needed food, toiletries, soap, and necessities. Hermione grabbed extra of everything, filling every container she had and using her food storage spells so things would keep longer. She wanted to avoid having to make any more supply runs than necessary. Hermione tallied the cost of their items as they went, and they stopped at the cash register to deposit their money prior to leaving. As they crept through the back exit to return to the alley they both moved cautiously, slowly, and kept their eyes and ears open for any sign of movement – but nothing happened. They reached the outskirts of the parking lot and quickly removed the cloak. Hermione held Harry’s shoulder as he crouched to put the cloak away in his bag. She’d immediately slipped her hand down the collar of his jacket before he had even bent over – you needed direct physical contact to side apparate and she would be damned if she wasn’t prepared for a second attack. She didn’t move an inch from him, and he could feel her leg next to his side as he tucked the cloak away. The second it was secured he gave her the signal.

“We’re good,” he said quickly, not even bothering to stand up. Hermione gripped his shoulder more tightly and apparated them away to a forest before he could even move a muscle.

The forest she brought them to was in central England, but still remote and deserted. They both breathed a sigh of relief as Hermione dropped her hand from his shoulder and stepped away from him to grab her purse and locate the tent. Hermione’s skill with apparition had improved to the point that he hardly felt anything, they’d shown up exactly as they left the plaza, Harry crouched by Hermione’s side. Standing slowly, he had to resist the urge he had to hug her and instead gave her a huge grin.

“See,” he said as he touched the side of her arm once gently. “Nothing happened.”

She grinned back at him, suppressing the urge to hug him as her stomach fluttered. Harry dropped his hand and slung his pack over his back and then her eyes narrowed as she started to turn her head.

“Harry do you hear-” She didn’t finish her sentence, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and she saw a flash from her peripherals. Knowing there wasn’t time to grab Harry directly – what with their thick winter jackets – her mind quickly calculated, and she chose the next best option.

Hermione shoved Harry back with more force than he thought was physically possible. Someone so small could not possibly be that strong, he thought briefly as he fell backwards and the ground between them exploded.

He drew his wand and saw that Hermione already had hers out, she was crouched several feet away in front of him as she’d rolled backwards to dodge the explosion. Turning his head to the left he saw the shape of two wizards running towards them in the darkness and one creature that was hunched over and moving much more quickly than the rest.

Fuck.

Warning:

This chapter contains: blood, violence, injury, and death.

-x-x-

Hermione had fired three spells before Harry had even rolled to crouch facing their attackers. She hit one of the two wizards square in the chest, and he crumpled to the ground instantly as the stunning spell knocked him out. The other was more agile and had managed to dodge her second and third attacks by rolling to the right. More concerning, Harry noted, was the large werewolf that was galloping towards them – eyes enraged, snarling – and with, Harry noticed it this time, a glint of gold reflecting from the band that circled its front wrist with every step it took.

Hermione and Harry simultaneously hit the werewolf with a stunning spell before they had to roll and dodge a second explosion that the remaining wizard had cast. The werewolf faltered, its front legs going limp momentarily as its face bashed into the ground before the creature regained its balance and lunged towards them – forcing them to dive further apart. Hermione cursed the distance between them and the cold weather. Had Harry not been bundled up for the winter, she could have grabbed him much more easily to apparate away before this happened. Though then again, she knew that if she had apparated right away, there would have been a risk that the explosive spell the snatcher had cast might have gotten caught up in her apparition. 

Which would have been devastating. 

There was no way to know for certain, and running what-if scenarios wouldn’t get her anywhere. Right now, she needed to focus, and she needed to get them out of this situation. She pushed her panic down as she rolled instinctively to the right to avoid a flash of white and heard the sound of a chain wrap tightly around the tree behind her. Whoever this guy was, he clearly hadn’t decided if he was trying to kill them or capture them.

The werewolf had turned its attention to Harry, and he was currently dodging and running and jumping away from its claws as he cast spell after spell towards it. His reflexes were faster and more accurate than the last encounter, and he didn’t allow the werewolf to catch him on his back like the one in the alley had. Instead, he lingered in a crouched position as he dodged and attacked – moving further and further down the slight incline of the forest ground.

Hermione cast two stunners and a disarming spell at the wizard before running up the slight incline and jumping high over a fallen branch and one of the snatcher’s explosive spells. She landed hard and rolled to her feet before casting an explosion at the tree that the snatcher had ducked behind. It detonated forcefully, and Hermione internally thanked her ability to cast non-verbal spells – the advantage was greater than she’d appreciated while just practicing with Harry.

Non-verbals were quicker and gave her the element of surprise. Unlike the snatcher who cried his disarming spell as he recovered from the explosion that had knocked him several feet away from the tree. She was ready for it, though, and she rolled forward under the bright red light before managing to catch the side of the man’s face with a carefully aimed diffindo. She heard him cry out as his right cheek split open and blood splattered the snow-covered ground next to him, leaving behind a vibrant red streak. 

His eyes were wild, his hair a disaster, and she noticed a gold glint from his wrist as he raised his wand. She saw the words begin to form on his lips before he could even get them out, and she lowered herself, building energy in her legs before pushing off to roll to the left as he cast a killing spell at where she had been standing.

Fuck! she thought as she rolled behind a tree stump, her back thumping hard against the surface as she stayed crouched low to the ground. The bright green flash streaked by, and her heart hammered hard in her chest. 

This had escalated, quickly, and her adrenaline was making her brain and body work double-time to keep up. She tossed a leg locker and a stunning spell around the tree stump before throwing herself further left to avoid the next explosion sent by the snatcher. He’d missed, hitting two feet away from where she’d been, but the debris flew violently into the air and thudded hard into the ground as she hunched behind a larger tree, hoping that the flying snow and bits of tree stump might cover her location for a moment. Her mind was racing. She needed to get to Harry, needed to apparate them away from this place before they got hurt. Everything was happening so fast they hadn’t even been able to use their shield charm. She knew there was no way they would be concentrated and calm enough to cast it with everything that was going on. 

She could feel her frustration building. They’d been so careful and so vigilant during their supply run only to run into snatchers and a werewolf at the first place they landed? 

This was just unbelievably bad fucking luck, her mind raged.

Hearing the snatcher advancing from her left, her eyes quickly glanced down the slight incline toward Harry, who was still fending off the werewolf, and she noticed that his left arm hung somewhat limply at his side. He ducked another lunge from the werewolf and rolled to his right further away from her, and clutched his arm briefly as he rose back into a crouched position before casting a diffindo at the creature and slicing it across its side. It was in that moment that a small amount of light from the almost completely cloud-covered night’s sky managed to sneak through the trees and reflect off the snow that she saw the wet red stain that spattered Harry’s arm and the pained expression on his face. 

Time seemed to slow down. Her eyes widened as she saw the werewolf stumble briefly from the injury but turn quickly to face Harry. Harry stepped back, and his foot caught in a branch on the ground. She knew what was going to happen before it did – Harry was going to slip, and the werewolf would be ready.

And something inside her snapped.

“NO!”

The word was screamed from her mouth before she had even realized it. She felt rage boil up from the deepest darkest depths of her soul, and it coursed through her like nothing she’d ever felt before. Her heart hammered, her face contorted, her eyes hardened – and in that moment, Hermione took her empathy, her emotional side, and her constant need to do what was right and stuffed it into a small little box in the corner of her mind. And she closed it tight. For empathy had no place here. Then her body moved before she even knew what she was doing.

She heard the snatcher approach beside her and start to cast an explosive spell, but she’d already pushed off the tree behind her, throwing herself forward, rolling once before she popped up to her knee and turned back to the snatcher. Her eyes flashed with raw anger, her wand moved before her brain connected the dots, and the word screamed from her mouth.

“SECTUMSEMPRA!”

The snatcher’s eyes went wide as his wand arm was torn violently from his body and a huge slash ripped his chest open – but she’d already turned her wand back to Harry and the werewolf. He was on his back, the werewolf was on top of him, and Harry’s left forearm was latched in its mouth. He aimed his wand and hit it with another cutting spell across the chest, its blood pouring down onto him.

Hermione’s wand was pointed while her mind immediately ruled out another sectumsempra or diffindo for fear of hitting Harry and instead latched on to what she knew would work. She focused her rage, her fear and her desire to stop the creature – then cried out.

“Plenus-Protego-corPus-LoComotor!”

A dark red spark with a white-hot center shot from her wand and flew at the werewolf, encasing it before it became completely invisible.

A desperate roar of agony erupted from the werewolf as it dropped Harry’s arm and collapsed, withering on the ground next to him. Hermione’s ears felt like they were bleeding from the horrific sounds that poured from its muzzle as she pushed off the ground and tore down the incline toward Harry. He’d rolled away and stood up before pointing his wand at it and slitting its throat with a muttered spell.

“HARRY!”

Hermione quickly closed the distance between them, running faster than she thought possible and leapt over a broken branch before skidding to a stop at Harry’s side. She grabbed his outstretched wand hand, aiming her own at the creature’s body as rapid, shuddering breaths wracked through her.

“I’m okay,” his breath came in rasps, and he leaned into her side, not taking his eyes off the now quiet werewolf. “It’s dead.”

She dropped her wand slowly before turning quickly to face him.

“Are you alright? Harry – your arm.” She was running her hands all over him, his chest, his arms, his face – ensuring he was alright everywhere else before immediately refocusing on his left arm. Her eyes examined the shredded material on his left side, and he winced as she began removing his jacket to see the damage.

“It’s not that bad,” he grimaced as she removed his sleeve with a seam-splitting spell and peeled away the jacket. “I managed to cast a shield.”

“You cast a shield?” Hermione’s hands had momentarily stopped moving over his arm as her eyes locked desperately and incredulously to Harry’s. “When did you cast a shield!?”

He laughed gently as she resumed inspecting his arm and quickly pulled a cleaning potion, essence of dittany and silver powder out of her purse.

“It wasn’t a very good one.” He winced again as she dowsed his arm in cleaning potion and charmed away the excess blood that covered his body to see the wounds better. “I – I wasn’t able to focus enough, so it was weak but, I cast it just as I felt my foot get stuck – before I fell. At least it stopped the werewolf from actually taking a bite of my arm.”

“Harry,” she breathed out as she now covered his arm in essence of dittany and silver powder, being sure to cover every single portion of his open wound before she looked up at him again. “Harry’s that’s – that’s – I can’t believe you managed it! I thought – I thought it bit you. I – I thought I might lose you!”

Her eyes watered as she threw her arms around his waist and pulled him into her tightly. He groaned a bit painfully into her neck but patted her gently on the back with his wand hand before she stepped back quickly and grabbed and held the front of his jacket tightly.

“Sorry.” She winced as she looked at him. “I was so worried. I thought that you’d been bitten – I – I wasn’t sure I’d get to you in time. You’re sure you weren’t bitten?”

“Nah, not this time.” He grinned at her. “Just a scratch. But I think my forearm where it had me is bruised something bad – because holy hell, it hurts like a bitch.”

Hermione’s gaze travelled down his arm, confirming that there were no puncture wounds. She smiled up at him, still clutching his jacket firmly as her eyes poured over him, devouring his features like she hadn’t seen him in years. She reached a hand up to the side of his face and stroked his cheekbone gently, the intensity of her eyes making his stomach turn over. Before he could do anything else, though, he saw her eyes sharpen as her mind flicked like a switch and refocused.

“Harry, sit here. The wound on your arm is closed – you won’t keep bleeding, but grab some blood replenishing potion from my bag okay? I need to look at your wounds more closely, but I need to go take care of the guy we stunned first – I’ll be right back.”

Harry had only just started to nod when she turned and started running back up the slight incline, muttering lumos so she could see better. Snow had begun to fall again, and the forest seemed eerily quiet and gave no hint of the battle that they had just waged. Only the broken and shattered trees and the large gaping holes in the ground provided any evidence of what had occurred. She cast a quick detection spell as she went to ensure there would be no further surprises – but nothing appeared. 

She reached the stunned snatcher quickly, having cut across to the right at a run to locate him. He lay face down in the snow rather awkwardly over a dead branch. She hit him with another stunner, and then a petrificus totalus before she rolled him over and obliviated his memories. Searching him quickly, she noted that he carried nothing useful on his person, just the wand that was still gripped tightly in his hand and a few loose coins. Her movements were robotic as she checked his pockets and then straightened to run over to where the second snatcher was.

He wasn’t hard to find. 

As she approached, she could see the crimson of blood soaked deeply into the snow – small patches slowly being covered by the new fluffy flakes that gathered on the ground. Her heart stammered, and her pulse quickened as the pool of blood got larger. Then she saw the stub of the snatcher’s arm, bone protruding awkwardly from the broken flesh, and his motionless body stiff as it lay in the cold snow. His eyes were open, and they stared blankly at the sky. 

They’re blue, she noted as her gaze traced over his face.

She didn’t need to check or cast a diagnostic to know that he was dead. Her stomach lurched, and she clamped her mouth shut with her hand as she gagged slightly. Thankfully, there was no smell – just the surreal image of red against white in a deathly quiet forest as his empty eyes looked up at nothing.

Willing herself not to throw up everywhere, she lowered into a crouch and brushed her fingers over his eyes to close them. She robotically searched his body, ignoring her unease and hoping to find something useful. She came across two scraps of paper and a ticket stub. She pocketed them quickly before standing up to scan the area. Her legs trembled when her eyes landed on the detached arm laying several feet from his body and she saw a thin gold bracelet on the wrist. Forcing her stiffening legs to move, she walked toward it.

-x-x-

Harry sat on the small broken branch watching the light from Hermione’s wand bob around on the hill before him. He’d cast a quick diagnostic charm and determined he needed to drink half a bottle of blood replenishing potion. He’d drank it quickly, repacking the bottle before turning his own lit wand to examine his arm. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been, and nothing in comparison to what Hermione had gotten during their last werewolf encounter – he would have lost his arm had his full body shield not formed fast enough. His arm still ached and hung awkwardly from his shoulder. He frowned at it before casting a second quick diagnostic charm that Hermione had taught him.

“Ahhh,” he said with a grimace. “Well, that makes sense.”

He’d broken his humerus. He had fully expected that the wounds would continue to ache terribly for the next little while as he healed, but he had been sitting there wondering why his arm still hung pathetically, and he couldn’t move it around very well. And now he knew why. He looked back up to see Hermione’s light lingering in one spot just up the hill for a while – he would get her to fix it when she returned. He didn’t trust himself to do it while in so much pain, and he didn’t want to set the bone wrong and leave Hermione with the task of rebreaking it. The light lingered still longer, and he was just about to call out to her when it finally started bobbing its way back to him.

-x-x-

Hermione’s face was tight and tense when she stepped into the light of Harry’s wand. He noticed that her eyes looked hardened and closed off, but yet her hand gently trembled as she reached to inspect Harry’s arm.

“Harry, I think your arm might be broken,” she said with focus, but he didn’t miss the slight quiver that her voice held as she spoke.

“It is,” he said calmly, grabbing her hand with his right and stopping her movement. “Hermione, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, pulling her hand away and refusing to meet his eyes. “I’ll fix your arm.”

“Hermione.” He caught her wrist again and held it firmly. Staring at her intently until her eyes finally met his. “We’re not doing this, okay? We’re not shutting down – talk to me – tell me what’s wrong. My arm’s already broken. It’s not going anywhere. We have time.”

She stood still and unmoving, her eyes searching his as her jaw clenched and her fist balled at her side.

“Harry, I–“ She faltered, and her eyes dropped down to his chest as her arm shook. “I killed him.”

Harry dropped her wrist and reached for her shoulder, pulling her into his chest. She didn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry – she honestly wasn’t even sure that she could cry for a snatcher who followed You Know Who, but her emotions still felt all over the place. She was desperate to never let go of Harry again. Her stomach knotted over the bloodied image of the dead snatcher. Her soul ached from worry that she’d almost lost Harry, and her mind was racing as her heart pounded from the adrenaline that had been coursing through her body. She felt disconnected and disjointed, as if her brain couldn’t process what she’d done.

“It’s okay, Hermione,” he said gently to her, stroking her back with his hand. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything–”

“But I did, Harry.” She cut him off, surprised by how even and level toned her voice was. “I did do it – it wasn’t an accident – I used dark magic, Harry. I – I used sectumpemra. I had to… I did it intentionally, Harry. This wasn’t a misfire.”

“Hermione,” he said as he pushed her away from him gently to look at her face. “You didn’t do anything other than what you had to.”

Her eyes softened, and she eyed him warily. He could see the unease in her stance, the desperation and turmoil inside her as she tried to process the situation. On one hand, she had just killed someone, intentionally. On the other hand, she’d helped save them, and it was hard to mourn the death of one of You Know Who’s followers. One that would have killed them if she hadn’t gotten him first.

“If you didn’t do what you did, we might not still be here. I’m not saying that we should be proud of using every tool that we have to fight this war – some take a toll, and some are just terrible. But they’re tools, and you did what you had to do. We’ll work through this together, okay? I – I used it too.” His voice dropped at the last sentence, and Hermione’s eyes shifted to the dead werewolf a few feet away from them. Its head was almost completely detached from its body – and she knew that a diffindo would not have been strong enough to do that sort of damage.

“I know,” she said quietly, her eyes turning back to his. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Me too,” he said, and he meant it.

She stared at him for a moment longer, knees getting colder in the snow as she knelt before Harry’s sitting form. The desperation was still evident in her face, but her eyes finally travelled back to his arm.

“I’ll fix your arm quickly – and then let’s get out of here.” Her eyes refocused as she pushed the inner turmoil back into the depths of her mind. She needed to remain focused and get them out of here. Now was not the time to be a pathetic or naïve child. She’d boxed that up earlier to do what needed to be done – and she would keep it boxed until they were safe.

She cast her own diagnostic spell quickly to assess the break and then healed it just as fast. Harry smiled as he noted that his arm didn’t hang limply from his side anymore, he could move it, but it still ached. She clutched his hand firmly before meeting his eyes again.

“Before we go, just one more thing.” She didn’t let go of his wand hand and instead pulled him to his feet.

Her eyes were determined, and she walked them both toward the dead carcass of the werewolf. Grabbing her purse with her only free hand, she summoned a black metal box and opened it with her wand – inside was a slim gold band. Carefully, she then used her wand to remove the golden band from the werewolf’s wrist and placed it inside the box with the other – never once touching it directly. She closed the box with her wand and placed several protection spells on it before stuffing it back into her purse.

“There,” she said with a strange amount of brightness. “I’m going to take a look at those and see if I can figure out how they work later. But for now – they’re safely stored.”

“Even in battle, you’re always thinking ahead,” Harry said, and he couldn’t help but look at her with pride.

She snorted and eyed the area around them with visible disdain.

“Obviously not enough though, we were still caught off guard.” Her voice was low with frustration.

“We’ll fix that, Hermione,” Harry said quietly, and her eyes darted to him, her brow creasing at the seriousness and determination that she heard. “It won’t happen again. We won’t let it happen again.”

She nodded firmly and gripped Harry’s hand tighter. He had noted how she had never let go of him since they got up from the log, and she was standing impossibly close.

“I know where to take us next,” she said determinedly. “It won’t be pleasant – but it will be safe.”

With that, Hermione stepped into Harry, gently cradling his injured arm between them, wrapping her hand around his waist and gripping his good hand firmly. Then she apparated them away.

-x-x-

With a crack, they landed in what Harry thought must have been the middle of a blizzard. The area was rocky, cold and still dark with the little remaining night. She’d brought them to a small rocky mountain so far North Harry figured they might be in Scotland. Immediately upon landing, Hermione cast a detection spell before walking them toward a rough slightly covered rocky area, where they then set up the tent.

Setting up the tent was difficult, not only because of the wind but also because Hermione did not want to let go of Harry’s hand. It took them twice as long to erect the tent and for her to secure the pegs with sticking charms. Begrudgingly, she finally did release her hold on him after she ushered him inside to rest while she went out to set the alarms and detection spells. She’d fished out a clean and warm pair of his flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt for him before she turned to leave.

She set four alarms and detections: one at 50 meters, one at 100 meters, one at 300 meters and one at 500 meters out from the tent. The small cracking sounds of her apparating to each location went unheard along the mountainside, disguised by the raging wind. While she worked, her mind was racing, her stomach nervous, and her eyes flicked quickly side to side with anxiety – wand clutched tightly in her hand awaiting any attacks. Images of the dead snatcher’s blue eyes kept popping up in her head; she’d shake it to refocus and then continue to push on.

She would need to deal with what had happened – she knew this – but just not right now. Right now, she needed to ensure that they were safe, that Harry was safe. So, she wandered the dark, snow-covered mountain with determination, her hand twitching every few steps, pulse racing as she flinched every so often – afraid that she’d heard something. Her twitching and trembling body was tense, every sense on high alert as she shivered in the frigid cold.

Closing the small distance back to the tent, she set the final wards and enchantments which would conceal their tent and keep them safe. The wind clawed at her face. The sleet and snow stung her eyes and cheeks. At the last ten steps, she felt her energy drain from her body as if someone had just placed the weight of the world on her shoulders. The adrenaline that had been coursing through her drained away, and now she only felt heavy from exhaustion, sore and numb. She found herself thinking that the only thing she wanted to do was just curl up in Harry’s arms.

She knew that they’d talked about what was going on between them and that she had been the one to say that now wasn’t a good time. She knew that she was the one who said the war complicated things and that she said allowing the closeness was irresponsible. 

I don’t care though, she thought as she pushed the tent open and came inside to remove her jacket and boots. She looked up to see Harry seated on his bunk, changed into the pajama bottoms and loose-fitting black t-shirt she’d given him before leaving. He looked up at her and smiled – he looked like shit.

She stripped off her jacket, hat, and boots before moving toward Harry. Her body felt like it was a hundred years old and full of lead. She was sure that tomorrow she would wake up to a bunch of fun and interesting bruises from rolling around in the forest and dodging to save her life. But right now, she couldn’t care less. Sluggishly she knelt before Harry to inspect his arm.

“You were lucky,” she said, voice heavy as she ran her fingers over the freshly healed skin.

“Yeah, it really only nicked my arm,” he said, his eyes following hers as she turned his arm over to inspect the back. “I think most of the damage was the break, to be honest. That and the bruising from when it bit my forearm – but at least the shield prevented its teeth from puncturing my arm. I only felt the pressure.”

A thin, jagged, angry red scar stretched from the tip of his shoulder down to his elbow. The werewolf’s claw had caught his shoulder, breaking the humerus with the downward force of impact, and it had carved a thin line several inches before Harry had managed to push it back. Harry was right, deep blue bruises were starting to show on his forearm, but there were no punctures. Most of the blood on his clothes had actually been the werewolf’s from several well-placed cutting spells, and Hermione expected that Harry’s recovery would not take nearly as long as her own had. Though, like hers – the scar would remain forever.

Hermione summoned her purse and pulled out a balm she had to help with the bruises and proceeded to gently rub it into his forearm. It smelled minty, and it made some of the tension release from his shoulders. After putting the balm away, she sat before Harry and realized that she was holding Harry’s hand between her – tracing his fingers and running her hands over his knuckles. She didn’t want to let go. She didn’t want to leave him. Her mind was blank. She felt dead on her knees, and she could feel his warmth spreading through her hands; her eyelids started to slouch.

“Hermione,” he said gently as he ran his own fingers over her knuckles. “You should get some rest.”

Hermione nodded slowly, her mind churning like an old, slow wind-up clock. She raised herself from the floor and squeezed Harry’s hand before walking towards her bunk and pulling out her own red flannel pajama bottoms and a dark grey sweater.

“I set four alarms and detections, so we will be able to get some sleep without anything sneaking up on us,” she said. She heard Harry agree and the creak of his bunk as he laid down gently.

Pattering softly to the bathroom, she found that she didn’t have it in her to shower, so instead, she quickly brushed her teeth, cast a drying charm on her hair, washed her face and cast a cleaning charm on herself after throwing her hair up in a sagging ponytail. The golden locket hung loosely around her neck, and she was thankful that they didn’t lose it in the battle. She would wear it for the next few days while Harry recovered.

Her movements were languished, her thoughts thick and heavy as emotion weighed heavy on her heart. Twice now, twice, they’d come so close to losing each other. She didn’t want to lose him – she couldn’t. When she exited the bathroom, the lights in the tent were still lit, and she moved quietly back to her bunk, dumping her worn clothes on the ground by her feet. She didn’t even have the energy to laugh at how ridiculous it was for Hermione Granger to drop clothes on the floor. She stood stock still, staring at the empty and cold-looking bunk before her. The raging winds outside rattled the tent, and the fabric pulled viciously with each gust. She wasn’t worried the tent would dislodge – she knew it wouldn’t; she had been careful with the sticking charms. But the noise and the cold placed an eerie edge to the bizarre calm haze she felt herself in.

She shivered as she continued to stare down at her bed. She didn’t want to crawl in it. She didn’t want to be alone. Slowly, she turned to look at Harry. His eyes were closed, and he was lying on his back. She wasn’t sure if he was sleeping or not yet. He was as exhausted as she was and injured, so he may have fallen asleep quickly while she was brushing her teeth. She shivered again. Her eyes drooped, and her right knee buckled under her weight – but she couldn’t stop looking at him. She couldn’t make herself turn away to face her bunk. She felt like her heart was aching. It had been too much; today was too much – she couldn’t do this… she couldn’t do this alone.

Unable to think, to process, to even begin to consider or care about the consequences, she took a step toward Harry’s bunk. He was lying closer to the tent wall, his injured left arm almost touching the fabric as it rippled in the wind. Her feet padded softly as she took the ten or so small steps between their bunks, and she saw Harry’s eyes crack open sleepily at the sound of her socked feet approaching.

Without saying a word, he reached his right hand out to her; she took the last two steps to his bunk, grabbed his hand and pulled back the blankets before lowering herself onto his bed. He shuffled over another inch as she laid down next to him, head beside his on the pillow, and rolled onto her side to face him. Her hand intertwined with his, and he rested it on his chest. She nuzzled in closer until she could feel his side against her chest before covering herself with his blanket.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered, the words barely audible above the storm that raged outside.

Harry’s hand tightened around hers.

“You’re never alone,” he breathed out in a whisper. “I’m always right here.”

She smiled as she gripped his hand tightly in return, flicking a finger to turn off the lights in the tent. Then darkness overtook her, and she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

-x-x-

Hermione woke to the sound of the tent moving around them. A dim light cast strange shadows against the fabric, and she knew it must be the start of the afternoon despite her eyes still being closed. It never got bright anymore now that they were into December, and the snow fell heavy. She did a quick mental check of their wards and could feel that they had remained undisturbed. Her body ached, sore from the battle they had faced the night before. She groaned as she made to roll to her back only to realize that her leg was stuck.

Hesitantly, she opened her eyes and saw thick dishevelled black hair. Her mind took a moment to process the image before it linked to the warmth that she felt against her chest and legs – to the sleeping form of Harry that lay next to her.

Her hand was still clutched firmly to Harry’s on his chest, her fingers had gone numb, and her right leg was tossed over Harry’s right one and weaved underneath his left. She froze for a moment as the cold of the night before, the loneliness, the fear, the exhaustion and the desire to not be alone settled in. She’d wandered back to his bunk after staring at her own for several minutes. She didn’t want to leave him. She had wanted to be near him. She still did.

She raised her head to look at his face. His features were loose and calm. Hermione couldn’t remember the last time that she had seen him sleep so peacefully. Usually, he slept in a fit and got tangled in his sheets – but he had not moved an inch from where he’d passed out. 

Makes sense, her mind supplied. He’s probably exhausted from last night. She stared at him a while longer before noting, Harry is incredibly handsome, as a blush crept over her cheeks. In the last two years, he’d really filled out. Broad shoulders, strong arms and legs, his jaw had become more defined, and it gave him the image of a strong and capable man. No wonder the girls at school had always fawned over him, she thought. She’d never really given it much thought or allowed herself to look at him, like really look at him. 

But now that she had, she had to admit that he was – rather dashing.

Hesitantly she craned her neck a bit further to peer at his left arm. It looked okay, still sporting a red and angry scar that peeked out from his shirt sleeve but otherwise, it remained fully sealed and did not pose any immediate problems.

Dropping her head softly back to the pillow, she contemplated her escape. Though tired, she did not want to sleep anymore and frankly, she was positively ravenous. Soon her stomach would be growling, and she didn’t want to wake Harry up. She also wasn’t sure what he would say when he realized that she was in his bed... but when the image of him outstretching his hand to her circled around in her head, she blushed further. She decided that he probably wouldn’t mind her being there... but still. This had definitely pushed past the agreed distance she had all but requested they make. 

And she’d been the one to breach it.

She rolled this thought over as the tent rippled again from a strong gust. She felt warm here next to Harry. Safe. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t like the distance that had been made between them. She didn’t like forcing space, and she didn’t ever want to let him go. They’d been attacked last night – unlucky as she unknowingly apparated them into a disaster zone. She’d made a mental note that she would need to look at a map and see if she could figure out what the hell had happened and if there might be a pattern between where the first werewolf attack was and this one. A note she planned to follow up on today. Right now, though, her brain couldn’t stop thinking about how for a second time in just four months, they’d come so close to dying.

She didn’t like it. 

She hated their situation, and it made her think more about Harry’s words. How he had said that this was what they were fighting for. She pondered a while longer before she felt her stomach rumble. Deciding to think more on it later but making a mental commitment to stop behaving how she thought she should around Harry and instead go back to how she wanted to. Then, she started to gently pull herself out from his grasp. First detangling their hands and then slipping her leg out. She had just gotten her calf out from under his leg and was gently pulling it across his right thigh, half sat up and resting on her elbow when Harry moved, and she froze.

His eyes fluttered open, dazed only for a second before they circled and landed on her. She felt her cheeks flush, and her brain faltered. Her face must have looked like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar because he smiled and let out a low gravelly laugh that made her chest tighten.

“Hey,” he said as he looked up at her with bright eyes. Not moving and not mentioning anything about her trying to sneak from bed. Or the fact that she was in his bed, or that her thigh was still resting on his.

“Hey,” she said in a low whisper as if nervous someone might hear her.

“Is this how you feel all the time, having to look up at people?” His eyes danced as he spoke.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and furrowed her eyebrows. At first confused by his statement as he laughed again, then realizing that he was making a joke and probably trying to lighten the mood, clearly sensing her tension.

“Are you making fun of me for being short!?” she sputtered as she thumped his chest with her free hand, the other still holding her halfway up.

“Ow – hey! Stop!” He caught her wrist gently. “I’m injured.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but could not stop the small smile that formed on her lips as she looked down at him. His head was relaxed on the pillow, and his grin made it look like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said; the words fell from her mouth before she had the chance to gain control of her voice.

It came out soft with worry, and she blushed as she started to feel just how close she was to him. Leg still lain over his, the entirety of her front was pressed against his side, and her hand was now once again held tightly in his on his chest. She lowered her eyes to their now laced fingers.

“I’m glad you’re okay too.” His voice was soft, and at the words her eyes darted back to meet his. It was impossible not to see the emotion that shone in them.

“I’m sorry about your arm, Harry,” she said quietly, and her eyes held sadness.

“It’s okay,” he said slowly as the grin faded slightly from his lips. It was replaced with a softer, much more intimate smile. “Now we match.”

She felt her chest constrict and her heart beat hard against her rib cage. She couldn’t look away from his eyes. She couldn’t stop her pulse from quickening. She untangled her hand from Harry’s and slowly brought it up to his face, resting it on his cheek and stroked her thumb over his cheekbone. He leaned his face into it ever so slightly as he blinked up at her slowly.

Hermione could feel her mind shut off, as if she was physically in there herself and simply closed the door on her thoughts. Then slowly, oh so slowly, she lowered her head to his. 

Hermione kissed him, her lips grazing his gently. She heard him breathe in at the contact, and he responded to her with equal care. It was slow, deep, and warm. Despite her racing heart, she didn’t feel nervous. This wasn’t desperate and heated like the last time. This – was different.

It was unhurried, heartfelt, and deep. Her lips moved against his, gentle but firm as she tried to convey every ounce of her being to him, every string of emotion she held for him – what she knew but couldn’t say. That she needed him, cared for him, respected him, wanted him – that she loved him. The kiss made her core burn and her heart thrum, but she kept the pace steady and sure, enjoying the feel of his lips moving against hers in such a slow and agonizingly intimate way.

Slowly, she pulled away from him, her lips left feeling cold and alone. She leaned back on her elbow and looked into his eyes. Harry stared up at her, his eyes a mirror reflection of her own – conveying immeasurable unspoken intense emotion. She felt a blush creep across her cheeks, and she lowered her eyes somewhat bashfully to his chest before pushing herself up to sit on the edge of the bed as her hand dragged slowly away from his face.

Harry didn’t stop her as she moved to get up and walk toward the kitchen. He didn’t try to turn the moment into anything more than it was. He didn’t speak, but his eyes watched her move, and he smiled quietly to himself. He would never question Hermione about the kiss. She would never have to explain what it meant. He would never worry about what it might mean, he would never wonder what was going on between them, and he would never feel unsure of what it was. 

Hermione didn’t have to tell him anything – he already knew.

Warnings:

This chapter contains: explicit smut (which can be skipped without missing out on main plot)

*******************************************

The next week that passed was rough and each day moved slowly. On the first day, as per her plan, Hermione examined the map and noticed that the werewolf encounters seemed to be circled around Birmingham. One had occurred to the North of the city and the other to the South. Using Birmingham as the center Hermione made a circle on her map with a radius equal to the distance that the two encounters had occurred. She marked the area as a ‘no apparate zone’ and they both agreed not to go anywhere near it for the rest of their Horcrux hunting.

The remainder of the first day was spent mostly lounging around the tent, both Harry and Hermione were simply too exhausted from the Battle on the Hillside – as they agreed to call it – to accomplish much else. They had eaten a quick breakfast and each showered to remove the remaining grime from the night before – Hermione cleaned Harry’s bunk thoroughly while he showered given that they had both slept in it without washing the night before. Then in the afternoon Harry laid on his bunk and read the books that Hermione brought to him while she curled up by his knees, leaning on the tent post similar to how Harry had stayed with her while she was sick – only this time she held his hand as they each read quietly.

Their workouts and training were difficult to complete due to the weather. The snow and sleet were relentless and slammed the tent viciously and allowed for very little visibility outside. With being on the side of a mountain it was too dangerous to practice outside, so they did what they could inside the tent while ensuring not to damage anything or accidentally explode the tent furniture. Harry completed their fitness routine too, albeit a bit more slowly, in order to ensure that his newly healed muscles adjusted to his body. Hermione teased him any time she was able to complete more reps than him and pinched his sides when she completed more pushups than him on the third day before Harry quickly swatted her hands away and made a promise to get her back once he was at full strength. 

The tent was frigid and despite the warming charms and multiple fires that they had set in jars around the tent they couldn't quite take the cold bite out of the air. Regardless, they both agreed to not apparate anywhere else for the week or until Harry was closer to being fully healed. The unwelcoming nature of the mountain and its remote location made it the safest place that they could possibly stay while Harry rested. Both as a result of the freezing cold tent and the commitment Hermione had made to herself to stop trying to act a particular way around Harry, she allowed the closeness between them to reform. They sat exactly beside each other every night for tea, intertwined their legs on the footstool, touched hands while talking and often found themselves curling up on a bunk together to read with a throw blanket draped across them as they huddled for warmth. Hermione noticed that Harry never pushed – he simply accepted any closeness and physical contact she instigated, mirrored it, and allowed her to set the pace and the boundaries of their interactions.

She smiled inwardly at that, thanking Harry internally for not over-complicating things, or asking her for explanations – and instead just understanding her intent and respecting her internal struggle. 

She wanted to be close to Harry. She wanted to see where things went and she already knew Harry’s position on the matter as he had blatantly stated it. Her kiss with Harry when they both woke in his bunk after the attack was meant to show him that she cared and that she was open to allowing the closeness between them to grow – that she cared for him more than she could even wrap her head around it. But she still couldn’t shake the nervousness that she felt about acting on her feelings and allowing their relationship to develop into something else. 

She still caught herself second-guessing it until she forced her mind to calm down and just let things be – so, she appreciated that Harry seemed to intuitively understand both her want and her hesitation. He allowed her to just be herself and take things slowly and instead of worrying about what she should do, she resolved to just do what felt right.

As he healed Hermione refused to allow Harry to take any night watches and insisted that he get a good night’s sleep to ensure that his healing process progressed as quickly as possible. With the additional wards and alarms that Hermione had set, and the terrible weather, night watch was not truly required – though, Hermione still insisted upon taking a 4 hour shift each night where she sat alone at the entrance of the tent until the wee hours of the morning. It remained unspoken between them, but they both knew she was having trouble sleeping after killing the snatcher on the hillside.

She hadn't broken down, cried, or developed any major PTSD symptoms after the battle – but she did often see the snatcher’s vacant blue eyes when she lay in bed and closed her own. She found that sitting in the cold and staring into the endless snowstorm helped calm her nerves and gave her ample time to meditate and work through her breathing techniques to help process what she had done. She did not mourn the death of whoever the man was, she didn’t regret what happened and she didn’t linger on the fact that she had ended a life. Instead, what hit her hardest was her own shattered naivety and the realization of how brutal and how ruthless war was. And how quickly she was being forced to lose the last remains of innocence she had left in order to survive.

Up until the Battle on the Hillside, she had managed to get by with making small sacrifices and losing only parts of her naivety. She’d always understood that war was difficult, that the things that happened during it would have long term effects and leave lasting scars – she’d just never fully appreciated what that meant. She hadn’t understood.

But she did now.

She had jinxed the DA contract and hurt Marietta Edgecombe, she’d broken school rules, snuck out after curfew, played with time, put herself and others in danger, broken laws, battled Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries and even severely injured others while in the fight – but despite that she had always clung to a rather naïve and somewhat childish view of the war where she thought that good would win. That somehow everything would end up okay simply because it had to. 

But not anymore.

Hermione felt a strange feeling settle over her as she stared out into the blizzard before her, as she thought about what she had done, what she would do, and what she had to do to get through this. She wasn't a kid anymore. That ship had sailed. This war had changed her. She had always been serious, responsible and studious – but this was different. This was the cold, unemotional acceptance of what the situation really was. This was the solemn recognition that even if they won, things would not go back to how they were – that she would not go back to who she was. This war was a part of her now, it had stolen time from her, hardened her, it had taken from her and would continue to take until one side fell – and she would take all of it, every step, every action and every struggle forward with her for the rest of her life.

She spent many of her night watches thinking about Ginny and the other DA members still at Hogwarts and wondered if they knew what was coming – what might be asked of them. If they were prepared for battle, for sacrificing pieces of themselves or taking the lives of others. She thought of Ron and wondered how he would have handled the battle, and if she ever saw him again if he would be mature enough to actually participate in the war the way they needed to. She could sense the shift in her maturity. She hadn’t appreciated what was coming up until now. Harry had... he had lived it already. He watched Cedric die, he saw Sirius disappear behind the veil, he’d been tortured with the cruciatus and he’d continuously lost so much. She wasn’t sure if everyone would be ready – but she resolved herself to be, and she took some solace in knowing that Harry understood how she felt and that they would work through whatever happened next together.

On three of the nights during their week on the mountainside she’d crawled into Harry’s bed after the night watch. The first time that it happened she had laid in her bunk for an hour, unable to sleep and unable to shake the unease that filled her mind as she closed her eyes and saw only the blood-spattered snow. The second night she knew as she retired into the tent that she would not be able to sleep and had lingered next to Harry’s bunk briefly before giving in and crawling under his blankets. The third time it happened she didn’t even try to fight it and immediately crawled into his bunk and rolled into his side for warmth. His even breathing and presence calmed her racing thoughts and allowed her to sleep.

The first time it had happened she snuck out of bed before Harry woke – or at least while he pretended to be sleeping so she could maintain her composure about leaving his bed uninvited. The second time it happened she woke to Harry making breakfast in the kitchen for her. She wasn’t sure how he slipped out without her noticing, but he never mentioned anything about her crawling into his bunk uninvited and they ate breakfast rather comfortably around a large blue flame before beginning their exercise routine.

The third time it happened she awoke in Harry’s arms, he was awake and reading next to her – one arm draped lazily around her, her head tucked into his shoulder, leg thrown over his and snuggled deeply into his side. He had given her a gentle squeeze when he saw a light blush creep over her face and what he figured might be a small amount of mortification based on her wide and avoiding eyes. He kissed her gently on the top of her head before murmuring “Anytime you need to, Hermione” softly against her hair. She had stayed next to him for several long minutes, enjoying his warmth and letting her mind wander before finally detangling herself from him to climb from bed and start making breakfast.

As she cooked breakfast her heart raced from the previous closeness and she felt her eyes prickle as a wave of emotion washed over her. Her relationship with Harry was both the most complex and confusing thing while also being the most simple and comforting thing she had ever been a part of. She would never be able to express to him in words how much it meant to her that she could just be herself around him – and not worry about defining anything or deciding anything. Things were a mess – they were a mess, and yet Harry was her constant and being able to be with him in whatever way felt right when they needed it kept her sane and gave her hope. Though it did make her mind wander back to Harry’s words… about how being together would make them stronger and she found it harder and harder not to think about it.

As December 14^th rolled around Harry was almost to his usual stamina, their shield charm ability remained strong, Hermione had taught Harry how to cast a disillusionment charm, Hermione’s many interestingly shaped bruises had healed and she figured it was about time to move on. She awoke that morning from her own bunk, the cold from the tent nipping at her nose as she groaned internally wishing for warmer weather. So far into December she knew it would be cold no matter where they apparated, so she decided to bring them to a Northerly cliff on the Eastside of Scotland next – knowing that the weather would be disastrous and provide ample cover like their current location.

Forcing herself from bed she cast a quick warming charm on herself, praised her ridiculously thick knitted socks for being so effective and started on breakfast. After Harry woke, they ate, agreed apparating to a new location would be a good plan for the morning and quickly packed up the tent. As they stood on the freezing mountainside Hermione moved close to Harry, he wrapped his arm around her waist tightly and she placed her ungloved hand gently on the back on his neck. She swept her eyes over the mountainside briefly before closing them to apparate them away. Leaving the mountain felt like she was leaving her old self behind and moving forward as an older, worn, harder and hopefully wiser person.

-x-x-

A loud crack split the air as they landed next to a steep cliff that dropped down to the North Sea. Hermione remained close to Harry, hand on the back of his neck as they both crouched down quickly and cast homenum revelio and a quick detection charm with a 100 foot radius before they stood slowly and began to set up the tent. Harry and Hermione went together to set the wards, alarms, detection spells and enchantments. It took a bit longer this way – but it was safer, and they had agreed to take no more chances before they left, becoming much more militant in their approach.

By the time they both ducked inside the tent they were shivering, despite the multiple warming charms, and Hermione’s hair was coated in snow. They both had tea to warm up, then completed a quick exercise routine before they took turns in the shower, ate lunch and settled in their respective armchairs around a particularly large blue flame to read. Despite the fact that they were now more South than before it felt colder. Probably because of the humidity, her brain supplied. With being so close to the water the wind chill was cutting and the air was damp with a deep cold that they could not seem to shake.

After an hour of reading she found herself stealing glances at Harry over her book as her mind wandered back to their intimate kiss in the kitchen. She had intertwined her legs with Harry’s when they first sat down and in the last several minutes she had started fidgeting them to keep warm. Harry had obviously noticed and had started to gently rub his thick sock-covered foot over hers to warm her feet. At first the movement had only felt kind, welcoming and warm to Hermione – but the longer he did it the more distracting it had become and now she found her mind wandering to places that still made her nervous, and thinking about the pent up frustrations she had been feeling all week.

Biting her thumb as a distraction, she looked back down at her book and turned the page to look at a very interesting – except not really interesting right now – instructional diagram on how to assemble a charmed multi-potion brewing station. She thought about the warmth of Harry’s legs, how close he had been when they kissed and how the heat had radiated off of him. She shivered in her chair. 

Fuck this cold is going to my head, she thought as she bit her thumb harder to try and distract herself. It’s so fucking cold… and Harry is so warm. She hadn’t noticed that she had started to gently rub her legs over his in response to his warming motions and instead was now recalling the feel of his lips against hers.

I wonder if that will ever happen again… I mean we’ve kissed again since – but not like that. That was… well, that was something else entirely. A small blush crept over her cheeks as she thought about it, the heated urgency between them as he had pressed his body into hers. 

She would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about that kiss a fair amount, it crept into her mind often. She would also be lying if she said she didn’t want it to happen again. Though, she wondered how something like that would come up again. Last time it was initiated by their closeness, their excitement over the successful implementation of the shield spell, and the built-up sexual tension – let’s be real though, the sexual tension is still there, she thought. Despite the acknowledged but ignored continued sexual tension, sitting in a freezing tent wasn’t exactly the most enticing atmosphere. She shivered again. So damn cold.

After several minutes her wandering mind slowed as she felt the familiar prickle of being watched and her eyes darted up and over to Harry’s chair. His book was still open in front of him on his lap, but it was held in laxed hands and he was fully staring at her. Rather intensely. The light blush on her face darkened and her eyes darted away from him down to her book before she realized that her thumb had still been lightly resting between her teeth. Pulling it away she shivered once more before glancing nervously up at him.

“What?” she asked, not able to hold his gaze and instead letting her eyes dance around his face, hands and book.

“Nothing,” Harry said slowly, his voice a little deeper than usual. “I was thinking of making some hot chocolate – you look cold, do you want some?”

“Yeah, that’d be lovely.” She smiled over at him.

Slowly Harry detangled his legs from hers and stood up from his seat. She shivered at the loss of his warm legs and pulled her own close to her chest as she watched him walk to the kitchen.

“So,” he said as he pulled down two old mugs and looked over his shoulder at her. “Reading anything interesting?”

Hermione’s blush deepened. She knew Harry was not a skilled legilimens, but the sound of his voice made her think that he might somehow know what she was thinking about.

“Sort of,” she said as she turned more in her chair to face him. “Just a neat detail on how to assemble a charmed multi-potion brewing station. Thought it might be useful to brew up some replacement potions.”

Harry poured the freshly boiled water into the muggle hot chocolate mix that Hermione had grabbed from their last supplies mission. She was glad that Harry didn’t mind drinking it – it was much more convenient to make than homemade or even wizards hot chocolate – and she had been annoyed when Ron complained about the dry powder mix being used to make steamy hot chocolate when they had some in early September.

Harry nodded as he approached her with the steaming mug and spoke as he handed it to her and sat down on the footstool in front of her.

“Must have been a difficult charm, since you were staring at the page for over 20 minutes.”

“I –“ Hermione’s voice caught as she looked down at her mug and then back to Harry as a deep blush grazed her face. “I was not – I was just thinking – what, were you watching me read?”

Harry laughed as he took a tentative sip of his hot beverage and then grinned at her.

“It was a bit hard not to, what with your constant fidgeting and small sighs.”

“I was not sighing,” a look of flustered indignation crossed her face.

“Mhmm.” He raised an amused eyebrow at her. “I must have imagined it along with the dazed yet slightly frustrated expression you had.”

Hermione swatted at him before turning her face away and took a sip of the deliciously hot beverage.

“I was just distracted,” she said quietly into the mug.

“Mhmm.” Harry grinned again as he stood up and wandered back to his chair.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him but continued to hide her small blush as she ducked her head over the mug she held. Is Harry teasing me? she thought as she blew on the drink to cool it down. Or… flirting? Was that flirting? Or is he hinting that he knows what’s on my mind?

She pondered it as she flipped her book back open to look at the potion charm diagram. Maybe being stuck in the tent for the last week was getting to her more than she thought, they both needed some air and a chance to burn off some energy. Or maybe she had just been incredibly obvious in her musings and Harry had noticed. Which is embarrassing, she thought. Or, maybe it was her rubbing her legs over his – she wasn’t sure. Either way, the familiar heat in her core seemed to have reignited and she felt a small churn in her stomach as she stole a glance at him and smiled over her mug. Then she tried to force herself to concentrate.

Though it seemed like Hermione’s mind had other ideas. Despite her best efforts and resolve, she found herself still distracted an hour later. Except now – she felt pent up, confused and frustrated. Annoyed with her lack of discipline and unsure why she felt so on edge she groaned outwardly and slammed the book closed before getting up from her chair. Come on Hermione get it together, what the fuck has gotten you so riled up!

Harry jerked at the noise and looked up to see Hermione stretch in frustration in front of him. Noticing how her sweater lifted to show an inch of skin at her waist. Hermione looked down at him.

“I’m not sure hot chocolate was a good idea, I can’t concentrate – I’m so pent up from being in this tent all week from the weather and now I have all this energy from the sugar – and I just–“ Hermione groaned outwardly as she shook her head. “I love reading, I love researching – but this is ridiculous, I need to do something.”

Hermione was looking at him with no small amount of desperation and he could not help himself but laugh.

“What?” she asked, with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“Sorry,” Harry said as he covered his mouth with his hand to hide his second chuckle. “I just never thought that I would outlast you with reading – I thought that I would crack first.”

Hermione scowled at first but then found the corner of her lips tugging upwards at the amused look on Harry's face.

“I just feel so constricted without being able to practice.” She smoothed her hands over her hair and turned to face him fully. “I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed practicing duelling or being active until I was, now I just feel so pent up. How are you dealing with this?”

“I’m not,” Harry replied honestly with a smile and he also stood from his chair. “I’m just as frustrated, I just thought if I complained you would tell me to be more studious and patient. So, I’ve sort of been pushing it down and just gritting through it.”

Hermione found she couldn’t even roll her eyes at that one. It was a fair assumption so instead she shrugged a little sheepishly.

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “That sounds like me. Look what you’ve done to me… made me active.”

Harry laughed outright at her use of the word active, having made it sound like the worst possible trait, or like she had caught an infection.

“Alright,” he said, grabbing his arm chair and moving it to the side. “How about we cast some shield charms around the tent and have a small duel with only leg lockers and disarming. We can draw two small circles across from one another – we each have to stay inside them – and then we can practice our close combat dodging. How’s that sound?”

“Fantastic,” a huge grin split across her face as she quickly grabbed her chair and moved it next to Harry’s.

They cast several general shield charms around the tent to create something similar to a small boxed in arena and then drew two 4 foot diameter circles on the floor of the tent just over 10 feet away from each other. Then each standing in a circle, they proceeded to duel.

It was immensely difficult. Trying to dodge while not stepping outside of the circle was awful. Hermione overstepped her circle 4 times before she started to get used to it. Despite the small quarters and lack of running around the exercise proved to be challenging, engaging, and a physical work out. Hermione ducked, jumped, leaned and found herself utilizing poses she didn’t know she was even capable of making. She made a mental note to add stretching to their exercise routine as it would definitely prove useful in close quarters. They went at it for over an hour before Hermione hit Harry with a leg locker and he tumbled backward to the ground with a heavy thump.

“Sorry Harry,” she called as she left her circle and crossed the small distance between them to cast the counter-spell on his stiff legs. “You okay?”

Harry accepted the hand she reached out to him and pulled himself from the ground.

“Absolutely.” He was grinning from ear to ear. “This was a good plan, I think it will be really helpful! We should just leave the circles on the ground, what do you think?”

Hermione nodded her agreement as she started to take down the protective shields that they had placed around the tent. Nothing was broken, the drill had been successful and now they had a new training routine to use in terrible weather. She could not wipe the smile from her face as they both talked strategy for how best to dodge in a small circle while they began to prepare dinner. 

Hermione noticed the way Harry lingered at her side, she couldn’t help but bump his elbow playfully and then swat him when he mimicked one of her more ridiculous dodge poses. Their jovial conversation continued non-stop while they ate, their laughter ringing out in the tent more than it ever had in the past as their joking turned to funny stories from their past. Harry told her about the time at the zoo with the python, Hermione told Harry about how she had accidentally turned her mother’s hair green as a small kid, and Harry told Hermione about how Mr. Dursley had gone insane when the Hogwarts letters started arriving. Although it had upset him at the time, the image of his uncle muttering and behaving erratically now made him laugh with amusement.

At some point during their conversation they agreed that two separate armchairs were simply impractical and ridiculous with the cold weather – so Hermione transfigured one of the chairs into a large love seat. The second chair sat next to it and held a large jar of blue flames. They were both now sitting on the love seat, close together, a throw draped over their legs, holding tea mugs while they spoke animatedly to each other. Hermione had turned on the love seat to face Harry, her leg folder underneath her and he was angled toward her, his back resting on the armrest of the couch.

“So what did you want to be when you grew up, before you knew you were a wizard?” Hermione asked as she sipped her tea. Not noticing how she leaned toward him as they spoke.

“Oh hell,” Harry said with a laugh. “I have no idea! I never knew. I mostly just wanted to get out – but I guess I always wanted to do something good. I didn’t want to be a cop necessarily, but I wanted to work toward making the world a better place and stopping bad people. I know that sounds sort of pathetic.”

“No that’s not pathetic at all!” Hermione replied as she placed her tea mug on the footstool. “When I was a kid, I sort of always thought I might become a dentist – because both my parents were – they never pushed me toward anything, but I just always had this feeling that’s where I would end up. But it wasn’t what I wanted. I – I wanted to make a difference. I never knew how, I just knew I wanted to stand up for injustice – and fight for things that mattered, for things no one else would fight for. So maybe a lawyer or something. I never put any more thought into it after I got my Hogwarts letter.”

“That makes sense, you definitely always stood up for those who couldn’t do it themselves. I still have my S.P.E.W. badge.” Harry grinned at her as he also placed his now empty mug on the footstool. Catching the way Hermione’s eyes narrowed at him he quickly continued. “No – no, it’s a good thing! S.P.E.W. was great Hermione, and I mean that – really, you would have been an amazing lawyer fighting for people’s rights.”

Hermione grinned at him as a small blush flushed her cheeks and she looked down at her hands that were clasped in her lap.

“Thanks, Harry,” her voice was soft as she spoke.

Harry grabbed her hand and clutched it in his own before bringing it up to his mouth to place a small kiss on her knuckles.

“You will be great at whatever you decide to do after this,” he said gently, but his words were firm as he looked at her and held her hand in his lap.

“That’s a strange thought isn’t it?” she said as her eyes drifted back up to his. “The war being over? Being able to actually just be ourselves and have normal lives.”

They both laughed at this, and Hermione shuddered slightly from the cold draft in the tent.

“I’m not sure our lives will ever be normal,” Harry said as he reached forward and ran his hand up and down her upper arm to warm her. “But – I am excited for this to be over – for whatever comes next.”

They both smiled at each other and Hermione felt the small coil in her stomach tighten. Harry was always so optimistic, always so sure that things would resolve themselves and that they would win. Tonight was one of the few nights where she wholeheartedly believed it and dared to allow herself to hope for a future that didn’t include being on the run or constantly running into people who wanted them dead. His bright green eyes poured out nothing but hope, and it was – beautiful, her mind offered up.

A small blush crept over her as she continued to look at Harry, and she dropped her eyes to his chin when the coil in her stomach twisted again. The heat from his hand on her arms and his leg against hers was so welcoming. The dark that had consumed the tent was now only battled by the flicker of the blue flame behind her and their position now started to feel rather intimate. Harry’s hand rubbing her arm slowed and he squeezed her once before dropping his arm. She caught it though, lacing her fingers through his and pulling it to her chest as her eyes moved up to his. He was looking at her the same way he had before he kissed her, the same way he had when she woke up next to him – the same way that made her breath hitch in her chest.

The brutal wind howled outside the tent, but the air between them was still. Hermione stared into his eyes, she knew her cheeks were flushed, she knew her eyes showed the desire she constantly tried to keep in check – but tonight, she wanted him to see it. She shivered as Harry’s grip on her hand tightened, but she didn’t look away from his eyes. She wanted him, she wanted to be closer to him, she wanted to feel the heat that poured from his body. 

As the thoughts of having him closer passed through her mind her nerves started to wake up. She didn’t know how to be close to someone in that way. Hermione was a bookworm for Merlin’s sake, not some popular girl who had been surrounded by schoolboys and learned the subtle art of relationships or seduction. Which was ironic, considering that she had spent her entire time at Hogwarts surrounded by two schoolboys – constantly. But it had never been in that way and as a result she had no idea what she was doing, she felt unprepared to deal with her wants and she silently berated herself for not reading up on it beforehand. She had had ample time to do so while stuck in a fucking tent for the last few months.

Her eyes drifted to Harry’s lips, they were ever so slightly parted, and she wet her own unknowingly before her eyes drifted briefly over his chest and shoulders – they were lean and strong – before they circled back up to his face. His eyes had darkened while she had been studying him and she felt her pulse quicken at the sight. She was terrified to make the first move, but felt her body lean intuitively toward him another inch.

As if on cue, sensing her desire and knowing she was nervous, Harry leaned toward her slowly and let go of her hand that he still held in his lap to bring his hand toward her face, brushing his thumb over her cheek as he leaned in. Hermione’s breath caught, but she didn’t panic, and she didn’t pull away. He was only just inches away from her now, eyes still locked to hers as he stroked her cheek with the soft pad of his thumb. Hermione felt herself inhale as she realized that he’d paused, and the small inches between them remained. Understanding dawning on her that he would not make a move unless she requested it or instigated it – as he had said he wouldn’t.

“Harry,” the words were a whisper almost lost between them.

“Yes, Hermione.” His voice was that familiar deep baritone that made her core wind tighter and the heat between her legs warm.

“Kiss me.”

The words had only barely left her lips before his were on hers. Her eyes closed shut at the contact and she breathed out sharply as his warmth flooded through her. She tilted her head to the right as her free hand clutched onto Harry’s thigh, the other hand still held tightly between them at her chest. It was a deep, wanting kiss and it made her insides roll over in anticipation. The hands between them split and then his came to rest firmly on her side and she clutched at the front of his sweater.

She moaned when his tongue entered her mouth, brushing over hers and exploring each nook and cranny as she ran her own tongue over his. He tasted sweet like the tea that they had just been drinking and she leaned into their kiss further as she felt his fingers tighten on her side. Their breathing became quicker as she pulled him toward her by his sweater and his hand slipped behind her head and tangled into her hair. Harry’s other hand slipped around her back and pulled her to his chest as he deepened their kiss further and the urgency increased. Her hands switched between clutching the fabric of the back of his sweater and running her hands along his broad shoulders, memorizing their shape as her chest was pressed tightly against his.

Her heart skipped when she felt herself leaning backwards on the couch under Harry’s weight. Her head came to rest on the armrest of the couch with Harry’s hand bracing her neck as his other hand slid back to her side. He was tangled between her legs and she groaned at the warmth of his body pressed heavily against her, pinning her to the couch as their lips moved desperately against each other. 

This, she thought as she nibbled on Harry’s lower lip, was what I needed. As much as she hated to admit it, because it made her feel a bit ashamed to be so affected by such baser instincts – this was what had been causing her so much tension throughout the week.

Harry pressed into her gently, running his hand up her side and being careful to stay above her sweater, and Hermione groaned out against him as his lips moved to her jaw, then her neck. It was hot, Hermione felt hot for the first time in what felt like weeks as warmth spread over her body. The heat between her legs doubled as she felt Harry’s stiff length between them, pressing into her thigh. Her heart raced and her stomach fluttered, it was a new feeling that made her both terrified and excited. She obviously knew all about erections, her two best friends were boys for Merlin’s sake – but she had never felt one pressed up against her, never felt a heat and excitement burn at her core at the thought of what it could mean.

Harry groaned against her neck as she tentatively pushed her hips against him and weaved her fingers through his hair. Not letting herself overthink, emptying her mind and just allowing herself to feel and her body to act on instinct. His lips crashed back against hers and she felt a new urgency to them, a deeply rooted want that he had been keeping at bay. Their intensity was fierce, and Hermione didn’t even realize that she had spread her legs wider and that she matched the small grinding motions that Harry was making into her hips. She felt something building, a pressure at her core that had long since been forgotten.

Sure, she had masturbated previously, but it was never often, and she usually had trouble reaching climax as her mind would get in the way. Always thinking about homework, the boys and her friends, or some other task that needed to be done – she had always found it difficult to concentrate and get anywhere with it. With Umbridge in 5^th year, the disaster that was 6^th year, and now the war where she spent every hour with boys in a tent… it hardly seemed appropriate and there hardly seemed to be a good time to try it. But now, with the heat, the want, the intense atmosphere that circled around them – the tight coil and the building sensation felt surreal and filled her with a wonderful sort of anticipation.

Hermione moaned loudly when Harry ground into her, his stiff length pressing right between her legs directly against her core as their lips fell apart. Her hand clenched his hair tightly between her fingers as her head fell back against the armrest. She’d sounded animalistic.

A wave of embarrassment fell over her, Shit! She knew that she was wet, her panties would be too and if not for the thick jeans she was wearing it would be painfully obvious. Her eyes fluttered open, catching Harry’s and then she dropped her own down to his chest breathing heavily. She could feel her face aflame. They’d stopped their grinding motions, and Harry now lay precariously between her legs – still hard, still pressing into her thigh. Fuck, she thought as she closed her eyes tightly and then forced them back open. She had never done this before, never made a noise like that in front of anyone before and she felt almost mortified. It was the most intimate noise she’d ever made in her life, and it had fallen so easily from her lips. The noise had stirred her thoughts and brought her mind back into the equation as she realized the position they were in.

She forced herself to glance up toward Harry. He was looking at her almost curiously, eyes lust-filled and hazy as his breaths came in quick shallow reps. His hand was still tangled in her hair at the base of her neck and his other hand was still clutching her side as he rested on his elbow. It was as if her sound had also brought his mind back into the conversation as he realized what was happening and calculated what to do next. She felt mortified, she knew that was a bit ridiculous – what they were doing was perfectly human and natural after all – but she couldn’t help her embarrassment.

“Hermione,” he breathed out slowly as he lowered his head to rest his forehead against hers.

“I’m sorry,” the words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Harry’s body froze as he drew his head back a fraction of an inch to look in her eyes.

“What? Why are you sorry?” His eyes searched hers quickly, but the remainder of him was still.

“I-“ She looked away, then back to him. Her eyes flicked around his face and she wanted to curl into herself and disappear. “I- sorry, I just, I’ve never – I didn’t mean to make that noise, I just-“

Her voice stopped as Harry pressed a soft and gentle kiss to her lips.

“Hermione,” he said quietly as he pulled back to look at her again. “Do not apologize for that. You are incredible, and the sounds that you’re making – they – they make me worry I’m going to lose my self-control.”

The coil in Hermione’s core wound impossibly tighter at his words and the raw lust that shone from his eyes. She connected their lips again and reignited their passionate kiss, Harry’s hand moving above her sweater to gently cup her breast. She groaned softly at his touch as she explored her front over her clothes and moved to kiss her neck again.

“Harry, will – will you touch me?”

The words were almost a whisper and Harry stilled against her, raising his head from her neck to look into her eyes. He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before speaking.

“Tell me when to stop, Hermione, okay?”

She locked her eyes to his and nodded nervously. She was nervous, that was a fact – but she was also excited, pent up, turned on, and she wanted him to touch her. She wanted Harry to be able to touch her body without her freaking out. She wanted to fully move on from her scars and know that she was in control of her body.

Slowly, his eyes still on hers, he slid his hand down her front to the hem of her sweater and hesitated before she nodded to him again more confidently. Leaning down to kiss her with an agonizingly sweet and tender kiss he slipped his right hand under her sweater. He moved slow, his thumb pressing gentle circles into her skin as his hand crept up her left side. She flinched slightly when his thumb brushed over the marred skin of her lowest scar just at the top of her stomach below her breast. He stopped, kissing her more reassuringly until she relaxed, and then he continued to move his hand.

It was slow, and Hermione’s body convulsed involuntarily each time Harry’s thumb and fingers brushed over her damaged skin. Each time the panic shot up in her mind she forced it down and leaned into the steady and reassuring lips that moved against hers – drawing strength from the fact that Harry never faltered, he never flinched and he did not pull away in disgust. Instead, if anything, he kissed her more deeply and with more passion when his hand caressed her chest, over her breasts and up to the collar bone. Touching each and every one of her scars gently and without judgement.

When Hermione finally seemed to become fully relaxed under his hands and confidently kissing him in return he slowly pressed his hips into hers and she let out a low moan. Harry smiled against her neck as he dropped his hand beneath her bra and ran a thumb over her taut nipple. Her breath hitched at the contact and he sucked gently on her neck as he rolled her nipple over between his thumb and finger before gently massaging her breast. He could feel the heat between them intensify again as she pushed up into his hips and nipped at his ear.

He responded by lowering his hand down her side – marvelling at how she did not flinch when his thumb ran over her scars – to come to rest firmly on her hip. He pushed into her hips again as he gripped her hip firmly, pinning her to the couch and dipped a thumb beneath the waistband of her jeans. She responded by shivering deliciously against him and latched her lips to his neck. He hissed out at the feeling, shifted his weight to her side and brought his hand to the center of her pants and undid the button before slowly pulling down the fly. Pressing into her once more Hermione moaned but then her hand fell from where it had been tightly gripping his back to grab his wrist gently.

“I-I’m not sure I’m ready,” Hermione said in a breathless whisper, her lips breaking from his neck as she looked toward his face. “I- I don’t know if I’m ready to – to do that.”

Hermione looked at Harry and was a little surprised to see that he smiled. She hadn’t been sure what would happen if she put the breaks on their situation but she hadn’t exactly anticipated him smiling about it. She knew Harry wasn’t pushy – but still.

“Hermione,” he said as he leaned forward to kiss her once gently. “I wasn’t planning for us to do that, I was just going to touch you – if you want me to. But we don’t have to do anything else, or anything that you don’t want.”

Hermione’s mind blanked as his words. He was going to touch me, her heart raced and she felt a deep red blush consume her face as she realized what he had meant. She hadn’t even thought about doing other things, her body thus far had just been reacting instinctively to everything that had happened. She’d only even thought about where things were headed when she felt the button of her pants undo and a brief wave of panic hit her as she urgently realized that she wasn’t sure if she was ready to have sex. She turned her eyes away from Harry’s instead looking at his right ear. She didn’t know what to say now. The truth was that she did want Harry to touch her. She was impossibly wound up and wanted to know what it would feel like to have him touch her – but she felt incredibly embarrassed to say that out loud. And incredibly selfish. She flicked her eyes back to his, bit her lip and then looked away again as her mind mulled over formulating an appropriate response.

“It’s okay, Hermione,” he said gently as he started to pull his hand away. “I won’t do anything.”

Hermione’s grip tightened and she stopped his hand from pulling away completely. Her eyes were downcast and she felt embarrassed as the next words slipped through her lips.

“No I – I want you to.” She glanced back up at him under her lashes, nervous to see his expression.

His eyes darkened at her words and she saw lustful desire cross his face as he slowly smiled. She let go of his wrist and shakily brought her hand back around his back as her heart hammered in anticipation in her chest. He kissed her lips, then her jaw, then the sides of her mouth before latching his lips back to hers.

“Just relax,” he breathed against her lips as his hand moved back to the waist of her pants. “And tell me if you want me to stop.”

She nodded against his lips and then clenched the fabric of his sweater between her fingers as his hand slipped slowly below her jeans. His hand was warm, and he gently pressed it against her mound above her panties. His movements were paced, giving her plenty of time to stop him as he ran a finger over her slit above her wet panties. She shuddered beneath his touch, inhaling sharply at the intense and pleasant wave that rolled through her. He continued to gently tease his fingers above her panties, rubbing her gently and eliciting small moans and intakes of breath. Then kissing her deeply he slipped his hand below her pantiesand traced a finger along her slick folds.

Hermione’s mouth fell open as a deep moan escaped her and her head fell back once more. He traced her slit again, feeling her unconsciously push up against his hand as her body craved more contact. He complied and gently stroked her, circling his fingers until he found the small nub toward the top of her slit. Hermione’s breath caught as a strangled moan came from her lips. He grinned against her neck as he began to stroke and circle her clit, pressing gently against it to match the rocking of her hips.

Hermione’s mind was filled with the sensation of Harry. His lips against her neck, his hand that propped her head up and added gentle pressure at the base of her neck, his fingers – Oh god his fingers – she cried internally as he flicked her clit gently again. Fuck, fuck, shit, holy shit! Her internal monologue of profanities continued to pick up the pace as her hips rocked more quickly against his fingers and Harry stroked her wet folds with a precision that she didn't even know was possible. She thanked any deity that might be listening for his skilled fingers, and marvelled at how quickly he had started to pick up on her cues – listening to her breath, watching her motions, gauging her reactions and constantly adjusting his pressure and his touch to give her what she wanted. The profanities and partial words that had been streaming through her head fell from her lips as she panted into his ear and Harry continued to work his fingers over her.

“Oh fuck, Harry,” the words fell out of her mouth and she clutched his back tightly as the pressure that had been building at her core compounded to an impossible level. She felt like she was going to explode, the coil was wound impossibly tight – too tight. “Har – Harry I – I think I’m going to – fuck – Harry – I“

Her words were lost to another moan as her brain seemed to stop functioning and Harry kissed her deeply as his fingers worked more quickly against her clit, pressing intent small circles over her.

“Let go Hermione,” he said as his head dropped down to her ear and he pulled her tighter into him and worked his hand more intently. “Let go – and come, come for me.”

His voice reverberated down her spine as his finger pressed down on her clit and he stroked her more quickly. Her body shuddered and she convulsed against him as a deep, desperate, moan ripped from her throat. She clung to him as she came, her hips moving against his hand as she rode the wave that washed over her, white flashed in her eyes as she closed them impossibly tight. Her mouth fell open as she sputtered more profanities and praise against his ear as she dropped her head to his shoulder. His hand slowed against her, gently stroking her down from her high as she melted in his arms.

She felt like a decade of stress had just vanished from her body. She was warm, relaxed – she felt like her bones had disappeared and her bone was completely limp in Harry’s arms as he pulled his hand away from her center to rest it gently at her side. He kissed her lips, her face, her eyes and her nose – and she lay there like an incapable sack of potatoes.

Slowly she opened her eyes to look up at him, he was smiling down at her, and she felt another blush creep over her face as the intimacy of what happened started to sink in. She was too tired and much too calm and relaxed to react, but still she felt a bit self-conscious about coming harder than she ever had under Harry’s touch.

“Hey,” he said softly as he stroked the back of her neck with his thumb that was still bracing her head.

“Hey,” she said breathlessly as she continued to stare up at him with hazy eyes.

“Feel better?”

“Yes,” the word left her lips with the slightest exhaled laugh. She did feel better, far less tense, far less pent up and much, much, happier. She wondered if Harry had been intending to help her with her stress and pent up frustration all along.

He grinned down at her before placing a lazy kiss on her lips.

“I’m glad,” he said, looking over her face and noticing how her eyes blinked heavily as she looked up at him. “Want to go to bed?”

Hermione’s heart fluttered at the thought. Harry had just voluntarily touched her – almost everywhere – accepted her scarred body, and just relieved her of her earlier tension and pent up frustration. And he did not ask for anything in return, just if she wanted to go to bed. A part of her wanted to repay him, to feel more of him, maybe see if she could do something to help him relieve his own pent up tension. But her breathing was slow and her eyes felt like lead after her intense orgasm, and going to bed sounded like the best thing in the fucking world. She smiled at him and kissed him sleepily before agreeing.

They detangled themselves from the couch and then not bothering to button up her pants she staggered sleepily to the bathroom to quickly brush her teeth, wash her face and use the loo. She pulled on the plaid pajama bottoms that she had brought with her, fuzzy socks and a thin tank top. She was still impossibly warm, and she did not feel like wearing a heavy sweater to bed. Besides, she thought sleepily as she opened the bathroom door, Harry had said ‘want to go to bed’, not ‘you should go to bed’. And she had no intention of sleeping alone tonight.

Hermione crawled into Harry’s bunk while he was using the washroom. She had worried that if she crawled into her own it might not send the right message and he may not know to come join her. Message sent, she thought as she snuggled up under the blanket and waited for him to return. The loose-fitting tank top that she wore revealed her top scar most prominently – but tonight, it wasn’t even a thought. Her eyes had already drifted closed when she heard Harry come from the bathroom and felt the bunk sink as he sat on the edge before climbing in completely and pulling her to his chest.

She snuggled into him, back against his chest, face toward the tent wall as she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Warnings:

This chapter contains: explicit smut (which can be skipped without missing out on main plot)

******************************************

Harry woke feeling warm and cozy. It was definitely one of the better sleeps that he had ever had while camping in this godforsaken tent during the winter and he actually felt rested. He could feel Hermione’s body pressed up against his, her deep breathing and limp limbs suggested that she was still fast asleep and unaware that Harry had woken up beside her.

While he held her firmly to his chest his mind raced over the events of the night before. They had been having fun, it was probably one of the first times that they’d had fun since the wedding, they had been laughing and talking and enjoying each other’s company. It had been so nice – he hated using such an overused word to describe it, but honestly it was the truth. The whole of the evening had been pleasant and wonderful, and it had been comfortable to just sit and enjoy spending time together – to talk like normal humans instead of discussing the war and Horcruxes like they usually did. At some point the conversation had turned personal and things had gotten more intimate, yet the atmosphere had remained comfortable.

When Hermione had grabbed his hand and pulled it to her chest the air had felt thick and her eyes had shone with desire. It had made his heart clench in his chest, he hadn’t known what she would want or what she would be willing to do with her own feelings. So when she leaned forward toward him, he couldn't stop himself from closing the distance further and reaching out to touch her face – though he maintained his promise to not initiate anything physical between them without her doing it first or without her asking him to. 

If nothing else, Harry Potter strived to be a man of his word. He wanted to be honest and reliable – and he did not want to be known as a liar. Harry had faced enough of that bullshit in fifth year to make his skin crawl. That bitch, Rita Skeeter, had labelled him a liar, a fraud and had tried to disgrace his name. Between the articles and the Ministry, even some of his peers had begun to mistrust him and they had refused to believe him about Voldemort. 

As a result, Harry understood the importance of integrity and he planned to keep his through and through. He would never give anyone any reason to truly doubt him or mistrust his word – so no matter how badly he wanted to kiss her, he wouldn’t. Not without her asking him to do so or without her starting it first, because that was the promise he had made her.

So when she had asked him to kiss her, his heart had felt like it was going to explode in his chest from excitement and he was elated and eager to comply. It took every ounce of his self-control not to ravage her mouth and touch her intimately. He’d strained to keep himself composed, understanding the important delicacy of the situation and not wanting a repeat of what had happened in the kitchen when they’d kissed the first time. So, he moved slowly and cautiously with every touch and every movement.

So when she’d asked him to touch her, he was positively ecstatic.

He had honestly not expected her to come around on the idea so quickly after the last incident. So not only was he excited because he got to touch her – obviously he was excited about that, he’d wanted to touch her for weeks and he was thrilled at the prospect of finally feeling her skin against his - he was also so incredibly happy. Happy because her request was proof of her coming to terms with her scars and proof of the trust that she held in him. 

It sounded weird to say it – but Harry felt honoured by her request and endeavoured to ensure that she enjoyed everything. Each touch was gentle, each movement carefully placed and slow as he felt her flinch under his hands until eventually, she calmed and was able to enjoy their closeness without physically reacting to his touch in such a jolting way. He’d worked patiently over her skin, watching and listening intently in case she told him to stop – but much to his delight, they worked through her insecurities together and Harry was able to run his hands fully over her chest with no hesitation from Hermione. Her only reaction had been the soft moans leaving her lips that had made him want her even more. 

After that… things escalated quickly.

He was ridiculously hard against his jeans the whole time. She’d tasted like the sweet tea they had been drinking and she smelt like parchment, fresh cool air and something else he couldn't identify. It made his stomach turn over and his cock hard as it strained against his pants. Grinding against her had been pure bliss, but from the start he’d never intended to do anything more than that. He did however, hope that he might be able to get her off and help reduce some of the visible tension and stress that she had been carrying around for the last few months.

Harry wasn't overly concerned about his own ‘problem’, he could take care of that alone later in the bathroom. He was a man after all and masturbating was not an issue for him. He’d been doing it semi-regularly for the whole duration of their camping Horcrux hunting adventure – particularly when he found himself getting too tense. It wasn't a daily thing, he wasn't like some of his friends. 

Ron, he thought with an internal eye roll. That boy and some of the others couldn’t get by a single day without wanking. No – Harry had self-control when it came to personal pleasure, but he did it often enough to prevent his stress and tension from becoming a problem. But, he suspected that Hermione did not based on her ever-increasing tension. Knowing her, being a bit uptight as she was, he suspected that she had issues letting go and finding release. He highly doubted that she had touched herself once since they set-up the tent and started this quest. Then again, it was possible that she’d never touched herself at all – he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to pretend like he knew anything about females or their habits – but she’d never been one to let go or let loose and he’d always suspected that she was uncomfortable with sexual contact.

So, as he touched her, he made sure to watch her expressions and the sounds she was making. He concentrated on her breathing and worked to bring her closer and closer to release with each stroke. She had already slick when he slid his hand over her panties and it had made him even harder. In a lot of ways stroking her until she reached climax was like reaching his own little high. He’d felt accomplished and pleased as he watched her eyes squeeze shut. A shiver had run down his spine as he’d felt her convulse against him, gripping his sweater tightly and shuddering as she rode out her orgasm to completion. It had been intoxicating, like a drug and he knew he was hooked. She was beautiful when she came undone, and he had held back a groan at the sight of it.

Fuck he wanted her. 

He wanted to explore her whole body. He wanted release. He wanted to be with her in every sense of the word and he never wanted it to end – but the sleepy haze in her eyes was evidence of her exhaustion. He could tell that she was in a daze from her intense climax and he knew that tonight was not the night. So he’d held her relaxed and limp form close to his chest and smiled to himself in contentment. Besides, he didn’t want to rush anything with Hermione. He understood that their situation was complicated and precarious and that she had some reservations about ‘being together’ due to the war. Her progress in accepting her marred body and allowing him to touch her at all – let alone enjoy it, was more than enough. 

They had time, and they could move on to other things together when the moment felt right. When they were both ready for it.  

Instead, they went to bed. Not wanting to be blue balled and uncomfortable for the remainder of the night Harry had finished himself off in the bathroom before crawling into his bunk next to Hermione. When he hit his climax, he’d been picturing her wriggling under his touch and the expression on her face when she came undone. He had done that. He had made her come, he had made her feel good and that thought was enough to send him over the edge. 

As he had exited the bathroom, he wasn’t sure where she would be, in his bunk or in her own. If she had decided to retire to her own bunk he had resolved to sleep in his, alone, and to give her the space that she would have clearly been requesting. So when he’d walked around the small corner from the bathroom and saw the lumped blankets of his bunk in the dim light and the untouched sheets of her own, he couldn’t help but smile. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever been more excited to crawl into bed.

Now snuggling his nose into the back of her neck he sighed out in happiness. Despite everything that was going on – the werewolves, the stress of trying to find Horcruxes, the impending war – despite not actually having a damn clue what he was doing, he had hope. This gave him hope. This motivated him to be better, to be more and to continue fighting no matter how bad things got. 

Harry wanted to know what a future with Hermione might bring. Whether their intimacy would only ever remain in this tent, whether it progressed past anything that had happened tonight or not, or whether it continued into the future for however long – it didn’t matter. Regardless of what happened he knew that Hermione was more important to him than he could possibly define. And he would do whatever it took to keep her safe, to ensure that they had the opportunity to figure things out between them – because this was worth fighting for.

-x-x-

Hermione woke to the smell of bacon and eggs. Rolling over in Harry’s bunk she saw him in the kitchen preparing breakfast and she could not stop the smile and the blush that broke out on her face. Images from the night before rushed through her mind and she buried her face into the pillow. Last night was, well… last night was fucking incredible, she thought as her face grew warmer under her blush. Everything about their conversation, their touches, their snogging, and Harry’s hands roaming over her body had been surreal. She couldn’t believe how relaxed she felt, and she couldn’t believe that Harry had touched her there in that way and had actually made her orgasm.

She could feel her blush intensify as she kept her face firmly planted in the pillow. She had never been touched by anyone but herself before and she had certainly never been touched like that before. It had been so incredibly intense and exciting and – she really had no words to describe it. It was like nothing she had ever felt or experienced before. 

It felt so good, she groaned internally as she shook her head against the pillow and her stomach twisted over in both excitement and embarrassment at the thought of it. She didn’t regret it, regardless of how nervous she felt right now. More than anything her anxiety was centered around one thought: now that she’d had it – she’d want it again.

It took several moments for Hermione to collect herself and roll out of bed to go help Harry with the breakfast. Their interactions were normal – except that when she approached him she placed her hand softly on his side and he leaned toward her and kissed her gently on her temple when she stood next to him at the counter to pull out plates. She blushed deeply at the action and then they ate breakfast in their usual fashion before continuing with their normal workout routine. The weather was still horribly cold, but at least the sleet and snow had stopped so they were able to practice outside and complete a full duel. They returned back to the tent nearly 3 hours later, panting, exhausted, soaking wet from their own sweat and pleased with the fact that they had managed to increase their shield charms by another minute each.

The afternoon was quiet. They ate a quick lunch, and then Harry read while Hermione started to examine the gold bracelets that she had collected off the werewolf and snatcher. She had attempted to read at first but found herself too distracted thinking about the night before and wondering what was going through Harry’s mind. He hadn’t mentioned anything about their activities – so she decided not to either and instead began a task that required more concentration and mental capacity than reading.

She was extremely careful not to touch the bracelets herself or allow them to touch anything other than the inside of the black metal box that she had originally stored them in. The box had been given to her by Alastor Moody during the summer before he was killed. It was a special charmed metal that did not allow any curses to propagate through it and when closed it kept the objects inside completely sealed, undetectable and untraceable. Moody had told her that he used it as an Auror to store items taken off his targets that looked ‘interesting’ but likely ‘possessed the potential to make your insides melt or your heart explode from your mouth while your eyes boil out’. 

Hermione was not sure exactly what objects Moody had put in the box before her and frankly, she did not enjoy thinking about her insides melting, her heart exploding from her mouth, or her eyes boiling – but she had accepted the gift anyway as she thought it might prove useful in the future.

As she worked, she conducted several detection charms, trace charms and tested the metal to confirm its material make-up. She was able to determine if the bracelets had any core or embedded materials. She kept a notebook open next to her to record her findings and she managed to work the entire afternoon with no distracting thoughts until Harry gently touched her shoulder and told her that dinner was ready. 

It was late, past 9 pm and her stomach growled loudly as she carefully packed up the bracelets and locked the chest for safety. She had been so focused that she did not realize how late it had gotten, though she was glad that she had spent the afternoon productively instead of overthinking the previous night’s activities. She joined Harry at the table for some shepherd’s pie and veggies, thankful that Harry had been paying attention to the time and remembered to feed them while she started to tell him about her findings.

“So, I’m pretty sure that the bracelet involves either blood binding or soul binding magic, and there seems to be a core in the bracelet. I still have to determine how to access it without damaging it though as it seems to be embedded,” Hermione said as she held another bite of pie on her fork.

“How will you determine which one it is?” Harry asked after he swallowed his own forkful of pie.

“Well, I have to do a bit of reading on that – there is a spell you can use but it’s complicated and the results might not be accurate. There may be a test potion I could brew as well or possibly a diagnostic. I’m going to look at that this week and try to get this sorted out. Honestly, though – I sort of hope it’s blood magic,” Hermione said with a grimace as she finished her pie and took a drink of water. “Soul binding is incredibly difficult and rare – and dangerous. There just isn’t a lot of information on it because it is so complex. Blood magic – although typically dark magic – can sometimes actually be good, like the protection your mother gave you – and there is a lot more research documented on it. It’s possible that if this involves blood magic that it could become useful in another way. I might be able to repurpose it – IF I can figure it out.”

Harry grinned at her widely and jostled her knee gently under the table with his own.

“You are so brilliant, Hermione,” Harry said sincerely, not a single hint of teasing in his voice as he looked at her with slight awe. “Of course you would be looking at this while trying to figure out how to use the bracelets and blood magic for good. You blow me away sometimes, you know that? If there is anything I can do to help let me know.”

Hermione blushed lightly at his compliment and gave him a shy grin.

“Thanks Harry,” she said as she started to collect the empty plates on the table into a small pile. "Of course I will let you know.”

“Hermione,” Harry said quietly, his eyes catching hers as she looked up from the stack of plates that she’d made. “About last night.”

Hermione visibly tensed, her hand frozen over the now-empty pie dish. She looked at Harry’s bright green eyes and a wave of panic hit her. 

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, she thought desperately as discomfort started to shift down her spine. I don’t know what to say about last night, and I don’t want to have ‘the talk’ about our relationship because I don’t know what this is! 

Her thoughts were racing, and her heart started to pound. She had hoped that Harry would understand that she was unsure of things given the war and that she was nervous to try and define anything when they were living in undefined uncertainty. She had thought that Harry understood. Yes, last night had been incredible. No, she could not deny that she had feelings for Harry. Yes, she wanted things to continue. Yes, she wanted to do that again. No, she didn’t know what this was. No, her position on them having a relationship hadn’t changed since their last conversation. And Yes, she desperately wished that things were simpler and she could just admit to herself and him how she truly felt.

“Harry, I–” She started nervously, but Harry cut her off.

“I know you’re still unsure and you don’t want to define things,” Harry interjected as he reached out to take her still hovering hand in his own and placed it on the table between them. She watched as he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles and felt a soft shudder run through her body. His touch always did that – it always affected her and she could feel her heartbeat start to increase. “I’m not going to ask you to change your position on that. I just wanted to make sure that you are okay with everything that happened last night.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open slightly as she stared at him in disbelief.

Of course I’m okay with it, she thought as her heart continued to race. He had been there, she had asked him to do it and he had seen her fall apart in his arms. He didn’t really think that she’d not wanted it, did he? She realized as she watched him that he must just be checking in to ensure she didn’t have any regrets about it – like buyer’s regret, her mind supplied and she nearly laughed at her brain’s choice of words.

“Yes, of course Harry.” She blushed furiously as she forced herself to maintain eye contact as relief flooded her body. She was glad that Harry still respected her position but she wanted to make sure he knew she was okay with it. She swallowed and blushed deeper as her voice dropped lower. “I asked you to.”

“I know,” Harry said, blushing a little himself as he glanced down at their intertwined hands before looking back at her. “I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t regret anything this morning. Because – well – I certainly enjoyed myself… and it sort of looked like you did to. I just wanted to make sure that you were still okay with it, that's all.”

“Of course,” Hermione said firmly and slightly more loudly than necessary. “I don’t regret it – not at all.”

Her blush deepened as she squeezed Harry’s hand. So, she thought, this was about ‘buyer’s’ regret.

“I really enjoyed it actually,” she said, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “You were – I mean, it was really good and I uh – I – thank you, for doing that. And for not pushing for anything else. I – I’m sorry you were, erm, you were – that I didn’t return the favour.”

Harry laughed at this as he blushed further and he brought her hand up to his mouth to kiss the back of her knuckles again gently.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said with a wink as he placed their hands back on the table once more. “I’m just fine. But, I’m glad Hermione – I’m glad that you enjoyed it. I promised you before that I wouldn’t push for anything, and I won’t – I won’t ask you to change your stance on defining anything. I’m happy to have what we do, and I’m happy to be with you in any way that you’re comfortable. I know that things are a bit crazy right now, I get it – we can talk through stuff later – if you want, of course – when things are less uncertain.”

Hermione’s heart thumped painfully in her chest. It felt like she had been stabbed in the heart and his words were melting her resolve, making her both incredibly happy and incredibly sad – and almost guilty. 

Harry was being so accepting. He was so willing to take whatever she would give and not ask for anything in return. He was so open to give to her and place his heart in her hands all while she told him she didn’t want a relationship. It pained her, and she hated it. She knew that physical closeness was emotional too and that what happened between them was affecting him as much as it was affecting her right now. All the turmoil in her head made her want to crawl across the table to kiss him and tell him that she wanted him forever – but her logical side still doubted, still cautioned and still warned against making any such commitments in a time of war. She squeezed his hand tightly as she smiled at him sadly. She wished she could give him what she knew he wanted but wouldn’t ask for, but she wasn’t sure that she could. She didn’t want to make a mistake, she didn’t want to regret things later or compromise their mission.

Harry’s words from their conversation weeks ago crept back into her mind – he’d said that this was what they were fighting for and that closeness was strength. Her mind drifted to Remus and Tonks, and then of Harry’s own parents who had stood together to try and save him – leaving him with the ultimate protection as a result. But all that did was make her heart ache more as she felt entirely torn. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel for him. She did. She was just afraid to do anything about it.

She stared at him for a long moment, a nervous shiver running through her body until she wondered if maybe she could give him something. Maybe Harry would appreciate some middle ground, and maybe if she was more blunt in announcing her feelings it might make him feel more comfortable.

“Thank you Harry, for respecting my position,” she said slowly, her eyes darting from his face to his chest as she felt her own constrict tightly. “I know I’m probably frustrating you. I really don’t mean to be difficult – I need you to know that I do care about you. More than anything but I – I’m just worried that this could compromise our mission and be a distraction. And I’m worried about making commitments while in the middle of a war – ones that we might not be able to keep. But – I – I can’t pretend like I don’t have feelings for you Harry. I – can’t pretend like I don’t want you when I do.”

She looked nervously at their hands for a moment as Harry waited for her to continue. She desperately hoped that Harry understood that her hesitation wasn’t about him. It was about the war and only the war – it was about making a commitment that they might not get to keep if this ended badly. Because being together meant having so much more to lose.

“I don’t want to confuse you Harry, or send mixed signals or stress you out. So if being close physically is too much I understand that and I won’t initiate anything else. But I do want to be close to you, and I – if you’re okay with just allowing things to be as they are – to just be ourselves however it feels right – I’d really like that. And – I want you to know that it’s okay if you – if you want to kiss me.” She looked up at him slowly and saw that he was staring at her intently. “I know that’s a lot to ask of you and I promise that when the war is over and things are less crazy we can talk and figure things out. I truly don’t mean to be so difficult and I know that what I’m asking for is unfair so if it’s easier to just drop this then that’s okay too.”

Hermione looked at him in anticipation, waiting for him to reply as she clutched his hand now with both of her own.

“Can I touch you?” Harry asked, his gaze fixed to hers. His voice had dropped down into the deep baritone that made her stomach curl and he was looking at her in that intense way that made her pulse quicken.

“Yes,” she breathed as a shiver ran down her spine. She hadn’t been expecting that response, at all, and the reply slipped from her lips before she could even debate it.

Harry squeezed her hands tightly before dropping his eyes to the table and taking a deep breath. When he looked back up his eyes had lightened some and it looked like he had regained some self control.

“Hermione, you’re not being difficult,” he said in a softer voice, though the deep rumbling baritone was still layered beneath it. “I do understand. You’re worried that being together means having more to lose – and frankly you’re right. I just look at it a different way. I see it as having more to fight for. You’re locking your feelings up to protect yourself from getting hurt and to protect those they are for, and I respect that. I know you’re not the type to lead people on or to do something like last night without it meaning something. So don’t worry about that – I know you well enough to know that you’re not using me.”

Harry smiled at her before he stood to collect the plates from the table and brought them to the kitchen counter. When he returned to the table though, instead of sitting down in his seat opposite her, he walked around to stand behind her and ducked his head close to her left ear.

“I’m more than happy to accept what you’re willing to give me, Hermione,” he said softly against her neck and Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine. “We can sort things out later when it’s less complicated if that’s what you want. But for now –”

Harry inhaled slowly, placing a small kiss on the side of her neck just below her jaw and Hermione felt her body flush with heat.

“I do want to kiss you.” His words were a whisper and Hermione could feel herself becoming wet as he spoke. She felt him place his hand tentatively on her right side. “And I do want to touch you.”

Hermione turned her head toward him and locked her lips to his. Her movements driven by pure instinct and need as she reached up to place her hand in his hair. Their angle was awkward but not uncomfortable and as Harry leaned down from behind her to kiss her lips intensely she all but melted beneath him. His hand on her side grazed her skin at the hem of her sweater before coming up the side of it and tracing across her stomach where he grabbed her other side, firmly locking her between his arm and his chest. She groaned as his other hand gently traced along her neck and the side of her face as he continued to kiss her deeply.

After several moments he broke away and Hermione was left breathless and panting, eyes hazy as she stared at him wantonly.

“Well, it’s getting a bit late,” Harry said with a false nonchalance as he dropped his hand from her neck and rubbed the back of his head. “I’m going to go get ready for bed.”

With that Harry turned and headed to the bathroom, and Hermione was left sitting in disbelief. Her hand clutched the front of her sweater and her heart was positively racing.

Shit, she thought and she stifled her groan as the bathroom door closed. 

Harry was right. She was hiding from her emotions, refusing to admit to them because admitting them made them real. Which then meant she had more to lose. So she was avoiding making any of this real by keeping things undefined, open and unlabelled. Her pull toward Harry was undeniable, she’d just told him that he was allowed to touch her and kiss her and yet she was pretending it didn’t mean what she knew it did because she was afraid to lose Harry. She was afraid to lose what they had. And Harry, being Harry, was willing to accept her bullshit, her fears, her doubts and utter ridiculousness about the situation and just take her as she was. 

She sighed and dropped her head to the table with a thud. He’s going to get me riled up and snog me into submission, she thought with a snort. But, on the bright side, at least he understood her intentions and he didn't think that she was unsure about him or using him in any way.

Several minutes later Harry exited the bathroom and Hermione went to get ready for bed. They each slept in their own bunks that night. Harry fell asleep quickly, exhausted from the day’s duel and pleased with how his conversation had gone with Hermione – especially the way it had ended. Hermione didn’t know it – but he figured that in her own time she would come to terms with her feelings and eventually accept them and stop viewing them as a weakness. Meanwhile, Hermione listened to the sound of the waves of the North Sea crashing against the rocks as she laid awake pondering their relationship. Thinking about how Harry chose to see things and whether or not that might be an acceptable way to start viewing her own feelings.

-x-x-

The next three days passed quickly. They prepared meals, took turns with the night shift watches, cleaned the tent, worked out, duelled intensely, practiced their shield spells, and completed their new close-quarters circle drill inside the tent. Hermione spent her spare time flipping between studying her copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard and examining the bracelets while Harry read and practiced some healing spells. 

They didn’t talk any further about their relationship, but they both accepted the agreement to just be themselves and to allow physical closeness when it happened naturally between them. It gave Hermione comfort to not actually acknowledge the relationship that was developing between them, it let her feel safe and allowed her to protect herself and Harry. Meanwhile Harry appreciated the closeness that he now had with Hermione and felt entirely confident in Hermione’s outright declaration that she did care for him and she did want him. 

They also snogged two times – and Harry did touch her once more.

The first kiss had happened the first day after their conversation. Hermione had hit Harry with a leg locker curse during their duel and she’d laughed at him as he toppled over into a particularly deep snowdrift. After climbing in to cast the counter-curse and help fish him out she kissed him softly as the snow started to fall around them. It was an innocent kiss, gentle, sweet and slow – and it only lasted just over a minute before she pulled away and they returned to the tent to warm up.

The second kiss was much more… intense and it happened after dinner on the second night. Hermione had been cleaning the dishes in the kitchen when Harry stepped up behind her and placed both hands on her hips – effectively pinning her to the counter. He had lowered his head down next to her ear and told her that she was ‘incredible’. Hermione hadn’t been sure what she’d done to deserve his words that day – she didn’t do anything spectacular or have any profound moments of insight, but they’d ended up kissing rather aggressively.

And that was the day he touched her once more.

Harry’s left hand had travelled up her stomach and across her chest to gently massage her right breast as his right hand travelled down, low, toward her hips. His thumb trailed along the top of her jeans, brushing against her bare skin lightly until it dipped just below the fabric and caused her breath to hitch. 

She’d murmured the words “Harry, pl-please – touch me” in between their kiss and groaned loudly when he compiled. He’d unbuttoned her jeans and slipped his hand between her legs only moments later and her body had ignited with want.

She could feel his hard erection pressing into her backside and it only turned her on further as Harry’s fingers found her clit and began tracing small circles over it. His left hand moved to her neck as he kissed her deeply and stroked her wet folds. He’d pressed his hard length into her, and she’d naturally pressed her hips back into him with want as she nibbled his lip and moaned against him. The coil in her core had wound tighter with each stroke of his finger. He kissed her deeply – nipping at her neck as she pressed herself against his hard body and drew small groans of pleasure from his lips. 

When she finally climaxed, she came hard, gripping the counter for support while Harry clutched her tightly to his chest to keep her from falling as her knees buckled beneath her. He spun her around, pushing her back into the counter and kissed her slowly, deeply and with a want she had never felt before while she came down from her high. The whole experience had left her feeling light-headed with a tingling sensation coursing through her body and they’d parted slowly as if in a daze.

They spent the remainder of the evening curled up on the couch with hot tea, Hermione leaning against Harry, his arm wrapped around her and both reading quietly. Before they went to bed Harry kissed her gently and it left her mind pondering her decision to continue leaving things undefined and pretending like nothing had changed when it so clearly had. Things were still comfortable between them. Nothing about what was happening felt awkward, or weird, or forced, or strange – if anything it was the opposite and she found that she felt even more comfortable with him now that she was letting herself be close to him without overthinking it.

Yet there was a part of it that still made her anxious and it had nothing to do with Harry.

It had everything to do with her and the conflicting desires and logic that were racing through her mind. Her goal had never been to leave herself room for escape later in case she changed her mind about him. She knew how she felt about him even if it terrified her and she knew it wasn’t going to change. She wasn’t only interested in the physical contact either – nor was she the type to look for a relationship without commitment. 

If anything, she was the opposite. She was an incredibly dedicated and loyal person. She loved the idea of being with someone that she trusted so fundamentally and if she were to ever have a ‘relationship’ she wanted the bond to be unbreakable – she wanted to be with someone she respected and she wanted her partner to respect her in turn. What she wanted, and she laid there trying not to admit to it – was Harry. 

Over the last three days her heart had been bursting with more feelings for Harry than she’d ever realized she had, and it left her wondering how long the feelings had really been there. Which only made her plan to avoid acknowledging her feelings all the more difficult. She couldn’t deny them. She knew that the only reason she didn’t want to make their relationship ‘real’ because she could not stand the idea of having even more to lose in this war.

Though, she was finding it difficult to continue convincing herself that she and Harry weren’t a ‘thing’ and she was starting to realize that choosing not to talk about it or label it wouldn’t keep it from being ‘real’. It wouldn’t stop it from hurting. Her remaining denial of their shift in relationship was her final and last desperate attempt to avoid admitting that it would kill her if she lost him. That she was terrified of screwing things up and wrecking the incredible relationship that they had. That even though she knew she wanted him – she couldn’t and wouldn’t allow herself to have him in full.

It was too risky.

It was too foolish.

They were in a war.

But as she stared at the ceiling and watched the tent ripple, she knew that he mattered more to her than anything else in the world regardless of whatever label she slapped on it. She knew that her feelings were even deeper than she let herself acknowledge and she knew that as much as it terrified her – that truth would remain the same even if she didn’t say it out loud.

So, as she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, she began to wonder why she was so afraid of outwardly acknowledging it.

On the 17^th of December Hermione was sat in her circle on the tent floor surrounded by a large pile of books when Harry approached her.

“Hermione?” His voice was curious, but sounded a bit hesitant.

“Hm?” she looked up from her copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard as Harry sat down in front of her next to a particularly tall stack of books. She eyed him curiously when she saw him fidget with his fingers, it was rather odd behaviour for Harry. They had become extremely close over the last few months and she could not remember the last time he looked nervous like this before talking to her.

“Hermione,” Harry said slowly. “I’ve been thinking – and I know that you’re probably not going to like this, but I want you to hear me out okay?”

Hermione closed the book, keeping her page with her finger and sat up a bit straighter to give Harry her full attention. Harry’s nervous look made her a bit anxious. She recognized the look in his eyes from when they were both kids and he was about to ask something that might be dangerous or would go against their safety rules because he thought whatever the thing was, was worth the risk. She pushed down her anxiety and took a quick breath before nodding. She trusted Harry and she knew that he wouldn’t ask for something that made him nervous like this unless it was important.

“Okay,” Hermione nodded, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees as she looked up to him. “Then I have a question for you after – so, let’s hear it.”

“I’ve been thinking. I – I want to go to Godric’s Hollow.”

Hermione sighed quietly as she rubbed her eyes tiredly with her hand.

“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “Yes, I’ve been wondering that too. I really think we’ll have to.”

“Really?” Harry looked at her with disbelief.

“Yes,” she laughed gently as she ran her hand over her hair to push it out of her face. “I’m starting to run out of ideas as to where else to look for the sword. It will be dangerous, but frankly the birthplace of Godric Gryffindor is starting to sound like a better and better idea each day.”

Harry nodded as a small chuckle escaped his lips.

“I’ll be honest Hermione, my reasons for wanting to go are two-fold. I want to see my parents’ graves – the house – I – I want to be there, to see it. And the second is the sword. I was doing some reading and Bathilda Bagshot lived in Godric’s Hollow. I thought it’s possible that she might know something – assuming we would be able to find her.”

“Harry, it's possible she might even have the sword,” Hermione said with more enthusiasm. “Dumbledore knew her, it’s possible that he left her the sword or that maybe he told her something. Maybe he expected us to go there because he knew that you would want to.”

Her voice softened and she placed a gentle hand on his knee before she continued.

“It’s only natural for you to want to see your birthplace Harry, and I think you should. Though – I do worry that that in and of itself will make it more dangerous. You Know Who is going to expect you to show up at some point. We’ll need to be extremely careful.”

“I had some thoughts on that actually,” Harry said as he placed his hand over the one Hermione had left on his knee. “We still have some Polyjuice potion leftover from when we invaded the Ministry – we could snatch some hairs and arrive under disguise. Combine that with our shield charms and some disillusionments and – if we’re cautious, I think we’ll be alright.”

Hermione nodded slowly in agreement.

“Okay, we’ll have to stop at a town at some point and grab some hairs – I don’t have any spares, so it will be a good idea to grab several extras for future use while we’re at it and a few more supplies as well. We can plan that out for this week,” she withdrew her hand from Harry’s to re-open her book and turned a page toward him. Harry shuffled over to sit next to her so he could see it more clearly.

“This was what I wanted to ask you about, Harry,” she said, pointing to a symbol at the top of one of the pages. It looked like a triangular eye whose pupil had been crossed with a vertical line. “It’s been inked in, look, someone’s drawn it there. At first I thought it was just an image above the story like some of the other chapters – so I didn’t notice it right away. Have you ever seen this symbol before? I’ve been looking through my old notes and texts and it doesn’t seem to be a rune or a symbol.”

“I’m not sure,” Harry said as he frowned and looked at the symbol. “Wait – wait, isn’t it the same symbol Luna’s dad was wearing around his neck at the wedding?”

“That’s what I thought too!” Hermione said as she turned to look Harry in the eyes. “But I didn’t get a good look at the wedding, so I wasn’t sure, and wanted you to confirm.”

“Then it’s Grindelwald’s mark.”

Hermione blinked, surprised by the confidence at which Harry spoke.

“What?” Hermione asked, looking at him blankly.

“Sorry – Krum told me, I never even thought to mention it, I’d completely forgotten,” Harry said somewhat sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

Harry recounted the conversation he’d had with Krum at the wedding, how the mark belonged to the dark wizard Grindelwald – who killed many people including Krum’s grandfather – and how he was very powerful until he was defeated by Dumbledore. Harry had no idea why Xenophilius would be wearing the symbol of such a horrible wizard, and he only hoped it was because Xenophilius did not realize what the mark meant. Hermione found the entire thing rather irritating as there was not a documented connection between the symbol and Grindelwald in any text she had seen. There was also no reason for a dark mark, if Krum was to be believed, to be written in a children’s book. They agreed it was odd and likely had been intentionally added to the pages by someone – though it was unclear if the marking was by Dumbledore himself.

They agreed to look for the symbol in a few of the restricted section books from the Hogwarts Library that Hermione had been carrying around while they prepared for their trip to Godric’s Hollow. Hermione was hesitant to go until they could both produce a shield charm lasting over 14 minutes each, and they needed to collect some hair from unsuspecting muggles – which meant a trip to town during the day.

Over the next week, they practiced their duelling intensely. They worked on their shielding charms and completed a very quick in and out mission to a nearby town to collect several hair samples while disillusioned and holding hands so that they would be prepared for a quick apparition away if trouble arose. But as luck would have it, the trip to town was so uneventful that Hermione and Harry even managed to grab a few extra supplies from a small store before heading back to the tent. 

Each hair sample collected was carefully bottled with a label attached describing the person who it belonged to. Hermione was pleased that she had managed to snag an additional six different samples so they would have plenty of new disguises if the situation ever called for it. On one of their preparation days Hermione mastered a simple spell to vanish footsteps in the snow. She taught Harry how to do it, and they practiced it outside for half an hour before they began their duelling exercises.

After a week, Hermione and Harry felt prepared to go to Godric’s Hollow. They had their disguises ready, disillusionment charms perfected, they could vanish their tracks, and they felt at the top of their game regarding physical shape and duelling abilities. They could even successfully implement their shield charms for fifteen minutes each. They agreed to apparate to Godric’s Hollow in the evening to avoid any major crowds but still be able to potentially locate Bathilda since knocking on an old woman's door in the middle of the night seemed inappropriate. So, they ate a quick dinner, cleaned up, packed everything up including the tent and then choked down the disgusting brew that was Polyjuice.

Harry transformed into a balding, middle-aged muggle man. He felt himself get just an inch shorter and he looked over at Hermione who had turned into his small rather mousy looking wife. They laughed at each other’s appearances nervously and Harry tried to tame the rolling of his stomach when he thought about where they were going. Casting their disillusionment charms they stood close to each other, Hermione’s transformed hand holding Harry’s tightly before they apparated away.

-x-x-

They landed in a snowy lane under a dark blue sky in which the first stars were already glimmering feebly. Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road, Christmas decorations twinkling in their windows. A short way ahead of them, a glow of golden streetlights indicated the center of the village. Harry and Hermione stood stock still with their wands outstretched as they quickly looked around – hands still clamped together. There would be no homenum revelio or detection charms here, they already knew that they were surrounded by people.

They wandered cautiously down the snowy lane, looking at each cottage with uncertainty. Hermione and Harry both vanished their steps as they went, maintaining their disillusionment despite their use of Polyjuice potion. They had no idea where Harry’s home was or where Bathilda might live and being so exposed in such a public place made them both uneasy. The lane they were walking on curved to the left and at the heart of the village a small square came into view. They slowed their pace to examine the square. A small war memorial was visible in the center, surrounded by a Christmas tree, a post office, several shops and a little church across the square. Several villagers cut across the square walking quickly through the snow to their destinations. One muggle opened the door to a pub, and they heard the faint sound of laughing as Christmas carols started up at the church. Hermione cast a muffliato around them before speaking.

“Harry, I think it’s Christmas Eve!” Hermione exclaimed and she clutched Harry’s hand tighter. “I was so caught up in getting prepared for today I completely lost track of my days.”

She turned to look at Harry, or where the balding middle-aged man which was Harry should be standing next to her. She could make out the small shimmer of his disillusionment, but she could not see his face.

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” she said gently as she squeezed his hand.

“Happy Christmas, Hermione,” Harry responded softly, as he returned the squeeze.

They stood quietly for a moment before Hermione started leading them toward the church across the square.

“Your parents Harry, they might be there,” she said quietly as they neared the small crowd in the square. Harry nodded, unable to speak, so he squeezed her hand again in confirmation.

His heart raced as they worked their way across the square. Being this open and exposed and surrounded by people made him on edge – he knew it would be a long while until he acclimatized himself to being in public after the war ended. Each movement or voice from a passing muggle made them both twitch as their eyes darted from side to side. The quiet of living in a tent for the last few months had made every sound from the village seem like it was coming from a loudspeaker and it filled his heart with unease. 

Crowds left them open to attack from any which way, so they moved cautiously and ensured that they vanished their footsteps completely. When they passed the center of the square Harry glanced at the war memorial – no muggles seemed to notice it so he assumed that they must not be able to see it. They continued their walk across the second half of the square slowly, and Harry could feel his disillusionment charm wearing thin. So, as they passed through the gates along the side of the church to the graveyard, he pulled out his invisibility cloak from his pack and draped it over them.

The graveyard was quiet and still, snow-covered the many graves that sat in neat little rows and low hanging trees buckled under the weight of the snow. They moved in silence, up and down each small row of graves looking for the Potters.

As they looked, they noticed a gravestone for Abbott – possibly a relation to Hannah – it was interesting to think that her family may have also been from Godric’s Hollow.  When they came across two particularly old looking white gravestones Hermione pulled Harry to a stop and they crouched down to get a better look. One was for Kendra Dumbledore, the other for her daughter Ariana. Small letters graced the bottom of the stone and read: ‘Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also’.

“Dumbledore never mentioned that he had family here, did he?” Hermione asked as she looked at Harry from under the cloak. Their disillusions had worn off so she was able to see the balding muggle man next to her.

“No,” Harry said with a frown, shaking his head. “He never mentioned it.”

Hermione frowned in response before they stood up to keep looking. Several rows later Hermione pulled him to a stop excitedly and they both ducked down under the cloak again to get a better look.

“Harry, I think this says Potter,” she quickly dusted off the snow and old dead moss, but her movements slowed as she realized that the name on the grave read Ignotus. “Oh, sorry, the snow made it look like it might have been your family.”

“It’s okay, Hermione,” Harry said kindly as he helped her to her feet. “We’ll keep looking.”

As they walked past another two rows of graves Harry could feel his heart start to drop. What if they’re not here, he thought with agitation. Hermione must have sensed his tension because she squeezed his hand reassuringly.

They rounded toward the back of the graveyard and he spotted a white gravestone, like the Dumbledore’s, under a low hanging tree. It was separated from some of the others in the yard and the area around it felt still. He pulled Hermione toward it and as they approached, he was able to make out the words clear as day.

James Potter, born 27 March 1960, died 31 October 1981

Lily Potter, born 30 January 1960, died 31 October 1981

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death

Harry stood quiet and unmoving, any words he might have had died in his throat as he looked at his parents’ grave. Hermione raised her wand under the cloak and charmed a Christmas wreath, then placed it gently in his hands. Harry dropped to his knees with a small thud and placed the wreath in front of the gravestones as hot tears poured from his eyes. She knelt next to him and leaned her head on his shoulder – and without thinking he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tightly to his side, placing a gentle kiss on her temple.

“Thank you for being here, Hermione,” he said in a whisper, the strain of his emotion evident in his voice. “Not just here today right now – but always. Thank you. Thank you for coming with me everywhere, for helping me, for being there when I needed you. I – I couldn’t do this without you. I wouldn’t be here without you – thank you for agreeing to come.”

Hermione nodded against his shoulder and clutched his hand again tightly. She could not even begin to imagine how Harry felt in this moment, what must be going through his mind. So she just sat with him quietly, allowing him to feel everything that he needed to feel and to feel close to the family he never got to meet.

“The quote on their grave is nice,” Hermione spoke quietly as she sat back a bit to look at Harry. “The idea of defeating death by living beyond it.”

Harry nodded next to her before giving her a small sad smile. with his eyes bright with tears, he pulled them both up to their feet. As they moved their way back out of the graveyard they both could not help but feel as though they were being watched, and Hermione jumped when she thought she saw movement to her right.

“Harry,” she said quietly, as they paused at the edge of the square. “I think I saw something, and whatever saw us could have seen us at your parents' grave.”

Harry nodded next to her and they locked hands more tightly, wands drawn and ready.

“Okay, let’s duck around this way,” he said as he pulled her down a path to the right. “I don’t fancy being in a crowd of unknown people, cloak or not – we’ll get out from here and look for Bathilda, but apparate away immediately if we see anything again.”

Hermione nodded her agreement and kept her wand pointed as they moved down the dimly lit street. Despite the dark they actually felt safer being away from the crowd – knowing that there was less chance for someone to sneak up on them and being comforted by the idea that they had room to fight or escape if necessary. After passing several cottages and looking around they started to wonder how they could possibly be successful in locating Bathilda. They were just rounding a corner and quietly discussing breaking into the post office to try and find her address when Harry froze.

A dark mass stood out in front of them to the left, it looked like the remains of a house. Harry pulled them toward it as his heart thumped loudly in his chest, the fidelius charm must have ended, but the house still stood. They approached and saw the remains of rubble still littered the yard, a large and wild-looking hedge grew out of control at the front, but most of the cottage still stood. 

The top floor was blown apart and seeing it made Harry’s heart ache. He knew that it must have been from the attack – and he realized that perhaps he would not be handling this so well if not for Hermione gripping his hand so tightly. His heart felt heavy, overweight with exhausted. He had not anticipated how emotional this was going to make him feel and it felt like someone was unravelling him like a ball of yarn.

Harry laid his hand on the gate as they stood in front of the house and a small sign raised up, with words still visible on the old wood:

On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family.

Sixteen years-worth of messages had been inked and carved on the sign. The words varied but the messages were largely the same, ‘Good luck, Harry, wherever you are’, ‘If you read this, Harry, we’re all behind you!’, ‘Long live Harry Potter!’

Harry could feel his chest tightening as he read the words and looked back up to the top half of the exploded house. He was entranced by it until Hermione tugged his arm and he immediately felt it too. They were being watched. Raising his wand he turned to see the stooped figure of an old woman approaching. She was looking at them, and back at the house. She must have been a witch to be able to see them and then she began beckoning them with her old crooked finger. Harry tightened his grip around Hermione as he spoke.

“Are you Mrs. Bagshot?” he asked as he kept his wand trained on the old lady.

She nodded slowly, pointed at Harry and then motioned for them to follow her as she turned to walk down the street.

“Harry,” Hermione said cautiously as she watched the old lady wobble away. “Do you think we should go? We need to be careful.”

“We’ll go,” Harry said in a whisper. “Keep your wand out, and if anything suspicious happens we get the hell out of here. But we need to at least try – she could have the sword.”

“Okay,” Hermione nodded once in agreement. “But don’t you dare let go of my hand.”

They followed her down the lane that she had come from, staying several steps behind the old woman. As they walked, they passed several cottages until they rounded on a small one with a metal gate. Following her up the path she led them to the front door and then struggled with the key before swinging it open and allowing them entrance. The door was too narrow to allow them to walk through it together under the cloak so, begrudgingly, they removed it and Hermione stored it in her bag quickly as Harry walked into the house first.

The first thing that Harry noticed when he stepped over the threshold was the god-awful smell. The house smelt like it had been closed up for months and that something had possibly gone bad in it. Harry wondered if anyone had been by recently to check on the old woman as she walked into the front hall and pulled out some matches. Bathilda’s hands were blue and mottled, her eyes thick with cataracts and sunken into the folds of her pale skin. She looked positively ancient, her face dotted with liver spots and broken veins while she moved slower than molasses. 

After lighting two candles she reached up to remove her black shawl and revealed a head of white hair underneath. The room was dark, the flicker of candles cast eerie shadows on the walls and Harry noted the thick dust that seemed to cover everything in the small entrance room. As if it hadn’t been touched in years. The golden locket around his neck twitched against his skin making his heart jump as he looked around the room – perhaps the sword was here. Bathilda then moved into the next room with the matches in hand.

“Bathilda?” Harry called out to her as he heard more matches being struck.

Hermione and Harry stood fixed to their spot and looked at each other nervously. Best case, Bathilda was not a talker – worst case, there was something wrong. A knowing look passed between them before they both were startled by Bathilda’s voice as it rang out from the other room.

“Come,” Bathilda called to them.

Harry reached out and took Hermione’s hand again before moving into the room that Bathilda had entered. It was the front sitting room, and the smell in the next room got worse as they approached Bathilda. Similar to the last room everything was coated in dust, the room was dark, the candles provided a disturbing vibe and Harry’s gut rolled over. He did not like this – he did not like this at all. But as the locket twitched lightly against his chest again, he knew that they needed to stick it out – they needed to get Bathilda to talk and see if she had the sword.

The rotting smell made the back of Harry’s throat gag, as the quiet that settled in the room seemed to thicken. Hermione gripped him like death, and he knew that she was obviously just as uncomfortable as he was. They needed to speed this up and get out of this place.

Bathilda was lighting candles by hand again but now risking her lace sleeve catching fire. Harry sighed inwardly with a groan and pulled Hermione with him to step toward Bathilda and offer to light the candles. Taking the matches from her quickly he then used his wand to light six more candles as Bathilda trundled over to the fire pit and began struggling with the logs. When he had lit the last candle, his eyes glanced over a large chest of drawers covered in framed photos. Casting a quick tergeo, he looked over the pictures before picking one up as his back stiffened. It was the golden-haired man from his dreams who had perched on Gregorovitch’s window seal – the same man he had seen in the Life and Times of Albus Dumbledore from Rita’s book.

“Mrs – Mrs – Bagshot?” Harry stammered as he held up the photo. “Who is this?”

Bathilda was unmoving in the center of the room, and she did not look up toward Harry until the fireplace flames had ignited. Hermione glanced nervously between Harry and Bathilda and gripped her wand more tightly.

“Mrs. Bagshot?” Harry asked again, his voice tight as he started to lose his patience. He dropped Hermione’s hand and stepped toward Bathilda and held up the photo for her to see. He felt Hermione shift uncomfortably behind him and he wondered if Bathilda was either deaf, senile or being forced into this situation. 

“Who is this person?” Harry demanded as he shook the picture in front of her. They needed to cut the crap so they could get out of here as quickly as possible.

Bathilda stared at him solemnly but still did not respond.

“Do you know who this is?” Harry repeated much more slowly than normal this time. “This man? Do you know him? What’s his name?”

Hermione could see Harry becoming more frustrated with his questioning as Bathilda refused or was unable to respond. She was not sure why he was so fixated on the picture when they were here for the sword.

“Harry what are you doing?” she asked him quietly as she nervously looked between the two of them again. “We’re here for the sword, remember? What’s with the picture?”

“This picture, Hermione – it’s the man I saw, the thief, the one who stole from Gregorovitch.” His eyes never left Bathilda as he spoke. “Please, Mrs. Bagshot, who is this man?”

“Mrs. Bagshot, you asked us to come with you – was there something that you wanted to tell us?” Hermione asked as she slowly approached the old woman from behind Harry. She understood Harry’s urgency now. The man had been in a dream, well, vision really, that Harry had seen from You Know Who. They needed answers and then they needed to leave – now. The longer they stayed in the house the more nervous she became and the more she figured this was a trap.

Bathilda however, ignored Hermione and her words completely. She started gesturing again at Harry and then toward the door to the hall.  

“Do you want us to leave?” Harry asked her.

Bathilda shook her head vigorously and then started to point again between herself and Harry and the hallway.

“Oh – I – Hermione, I think she wants us to go upstairs.” Harry said, glancing toward Hermione quickly and back to Bathilda who nodded.

“Okay,” Hermione said slowly as she took Harry’s hand and they started to step toward the hall only to have Bathilda shake her head again and point meaningfully at Harry.

They stopped and looked at each other for a moment as the realization of what Bathilda was asking for sunk in.

“I think she wants only me to go upstairs,” Harry said stiffly, looking at Hermione with concern.

Neither one of them liked this, something was wrong and they knew it – they just didn’t know what. Possibly an ambush? Possibly a set-up? It was difficult to find the old woman threatening when she could barely walk around but something was definitely not right.

Perhaps her silence was out of fear. Or perhaps someone had threatened her, or hurt her and she was being forced to assist for fear of her own life. The house creaked eerily around them and the air seemed thick with darkness. Hermione looked down at Harry’s wand and then quickly back to his eyes and nodded once firmly to Harry and he understood. They needed to get whatever information they could from Bathilda and then get the hell out of this house.

“Okay,” Harry said slowly as he looked back to face Bathilda. “I’ll come with you upstairs, and Hermione will stay down here and maybe see if she could make us some tea.”

Bathilda seemed to get the message and she turned to start walking toward the hallway. Harry and Hermione quickly side-stepped out of view of the hall and Hermione cast a non-verbal muffliato around them. Then Harry cast his shield charm faster than she had ever seen him do it – the dark purple glow encasing him quickly before disappearing from sight.

“Five minutes,” Harry said firmly as he grabbed her hand. “If something happens, we will disapparate separately back to the cliff by the North Sea – I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay – but if you’re not down in five minutes, I’m coming to get you. I’ll cast my own shield charm as soon as you’re gone. I’ll see if I can find out what the hell is going on down here – call me if something happens.”

Harry nodded firmly and squeezed her arm before turning to quickly rejoin Bathilda as Hermione cast her own shield charm and removed her silencing spell.

-x-x-

Harry followed Bathilda up the stairs. By the speed she was moving he was worried that his shield charm might run out before they even got to the top of the damn staircase, but he had set a timer with his wand as he approached the hallway so he could keep track. When they finally reached the top of the staircase he had eleven minutes left on his shield.

“You are Potter?” Bathilda whispered to him when they finally stood in a small low ceiling bedroom at the top of the stairs. The room was dark, and smelled disgusting – Harry couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose as he cast a lumos to see. Everything about this situation was disturbing, the house felt like death and if not for the slightly twitching Horcrux he would have already left.

“Yes, I am.” He responded quickly, his eyes never leaving her form. She nodded slowly, but made no motion to do anything else. 

Oh for fuck’s sake, he thought as his temper started to flare once more. He did not want to be here, he did not want to be separated from Hermione and he did not understand why Bathilda would only speak to him. Dumbledore had left stuff for Hermione in his will too, so surely Dumbledore hadn’t wanted to withhold information from her. His only thought was that maybe Dumbledore had said something like ‘this is for Harry’ and Bathilda was the one who interpreted it as a secret.

“Have you gotten anything?” he asked her with a tone of frustration. “Please, Mrs. Bagshot – did Dumbledore leave you with anything to give me?”

Bathilda closed her eyes and Harry tensed as the Horcrux against his chest twitched so physically that his sweater moved and his scar prickled. The dark room wobbled in front of him as he felt a bizarre leap of joy course through his body as a cold voice echoed in his head.

Hold him!

Harry swayed on his spot and steadied his footing. What the fuck?! He thought as he looked at Bathilda to see that she was watching him intently. This needs to end now.

“Have you got anything?” he asked more intently as his hand tightened on his wand.

“Over here,” she finally responded to him and pointed to the corner. Harry raised his wand to see a cluttered dressing table beneath a curtained window and moved slowly toward it, not taking his eyes off Bathilda as he went. He noted that she did not move to lead him this time. He checked his internal timer and noted that he now had just under 6 minutes left on his shield.

He reached the side of her bed and could make out what looked like a tangled laundry pile from his peripherals.

“What is it?” He asked impatiently as he kept his wand outstretched, not trusting to look away from her.

“There,” she said as she pointed to the shapeless mess.

Fuck, Harry swore inwardly and he quickly darted his eyes to the pile, looking for a hint of the sword or literally anything that would be useful and justify the risk that they were taking. His stomach was in knots with nerves and the hairs on the back of his neck had started to stand up as the rank smell agitated his senses. The second he looked away from Bathilda he saw her move strangely from the corner of his eyes and he immediately returned his gaze towards her.

A wave of horror and panic washed over him as the body of Bathilda Bagshot seemed to melt and drop away to the ground like a suit and a great snake began to pour from the body’s neck. Harry opened his mouth and yelled without a second thought.

“HERMIONE GO!”

The words tore through his throat in a loud bellow as he non-verbally cast two stunners and a diffindo in quick succession. The snake faltered only slightly from the impact and Harry rolled to the side quickly to dodge as its great tail took a swing at his midsection. Fuck! Harry thought as he rolled to his feet, I have to watch both fucking ends?!

He could hear Hermione barreling up the staircase as he went to strike the snake again – this time intending to cut it in half with sectumsempra then apparate away when all of a sudden, his forehead felt like it was split open with a hammer. 

He faltered, nearly dropping his wand as his hand instinctively rose to his forehead. He couldn’t see, his vision was blurred as his heart started to race wildly out of control with joy. He was flying – flying without a broom or a thestral and he felt mad with excitement. A hard hit to his chest jolted him out of the rush of emotions that were washing over him and he fell to the floor hard, cracking his head as he landed. He meant to apparate away, but he simply couldn’t – his mind was not his own, his body was not under his control. Everything was clouded and messy and unfocused. The smell of death overwhelmed him and he gagged at the taste as his eyes searched blurrily around the dark room. Suddenly, it felt like a troll was seated on his chest and he raised his arms in front of his face protectively before he felt a sharp pressure on his arm. It was bearing down on him hard until he felt a sharp pain in his arm and a small crack.

“SECTUMSEMPRA!”

He heard Hermione bellow the words but he could not see her as she burst through the door loudly, powerful as a hurricane and struck the snake hard. It dropped the arm it had been biting and Harry groaned as his broken limb fell to his side with a thump. Harry rolled to his right toward Hermione’s voice – his vision was coming back in waves as he cast two more non-verbal spells in the direction of the snake and Hermione did the same. Bright colours lit up the small room as Hermione fired spell after spell, relentlessly hurtling her full artillery at the creature.

The snake was crashing and thrashing around the room, attacking and lunging wildly while trying to avoid both his and Hermione's spells. He could hear it hissing, “NO! NO! I must hold you!” over and over as it attacked.

“HARRY!” 

He heard her call and he jerked his head as the snake lunged between them, he jumped back before throwing himself over its coils to get to the same side of the room as Hermione, closer to the door and away from the window. Then his head burst open in pain once more and he could not stop the scream which raged from his mouth.

“HERMIONE!” He called blindly, his hoarse voice desperate as he managed to focus his eyes to see three red spells cast in quick succession fly past his right side as the wall behind him exploded violently. “We have to go – NOW – HE’S COMING!”

He heard her footsteps, three of them, and could make out the shadow of her next to him followed by a very loudly shouted Confringo. Then he saw and felt Voldemort in full force. He was livid and violent and reeking of death. He burst through the curtained window across the room from them – white hand outstretched, wand ready. Harry saw himself, through Voldemort’s eyes – a balding muggle, with his mousy wife grabbing the back of his neck with a look of fearless determination as they vanished from sight with a loud pop. 

He screamed in rage, exploding the opposite side of Bathilda’s house as his anger flared and scorched the walls of the house with wordless magic. Harry’s mind was lost, lost in memories and visions and thoughts that weren’t his. It felt like his head had slipped below water and he was unable to come up for air. Everything had gone dark as the images and memories assaulted him. He was screaming, writhing in pain and he saw his family – his parents. He saw them die, he was crying and shaking, and angry with fear. He was Voldemort. He stood in the broken home of Bathilda Bagshot and raged at the thought of Harry escaping his clutches. Then he saw the photo on the ground, the thief – the man he had been looking for.

-x-x-

Hermione landed roughly in the Forest of Dean, Harry dropping with a soft thump into the snow beside her. She crouched next to him, hand still on his skin as she cast several quick detection spells and alarms spells in rapid succession. They all came back negative, showing no threats in the area. Homenum revelio showed nothing either – they were completely alone, back to the quiet snow-covered forests and deserted locations that they were used to. 

They were safe for the moment. 

She grabbed Harry and rolled him over in the snow, he was twitching and muttering and moaning in agony but otherwise, he seemed okay. The snake’d had Harry’s arm in its mouth as she entered the disgusting bedroom, but similar to the werewolf attack – there were no puncture wounds, just deep bruising. She cast a diagnostic on his arms and saw the small fracture from the pressure of the creature’s bite. It ran along the length of his forearm – they would need to see if there was any way to strengthen the shield against physical blows and not just prevent punctures and magic. Broken bones are still a nuisance when in a battle, and the more protection they could have from their shield the better.

She quickly mended his arm before casting another diagnostic and checking over his entire form. The Horcrux was physically stuck to his chest, like it had melted into his skin. She had to use a severing charm to dislodge the cursed thing before throwing it around her own neck and using some dittany on his chest to try to prevent any scarring. As she searched his body for other injuries her heart fell – his wand was snapped in half. She gathered the remains carefully and wrapped them in a small cloth she summoned from her bag. Once she was satisfied that he was okay, at least physically, she grabbed her bag and fetched the tent to set it up.

One hour later the tent was safely pitched, the alarms were set, the wards were placed, the enchantments were made, and 6 detection spells were strategically cast around the grounds. She had levitated Harry into his bunk and she now sat by his head in a chair with a book. She shivered as she looked down at him and gently brushed some loose strands of black hair from his eyes. He was still for the moment at least. She had seen Harry like this before in the past, and she knew immediately when she saw the glassy-eyed way he had looked on the floor of Bathilda’s house that Voldemort had been in his head. 

As a result, Harry was almost incapacitated by the connection and he was clearly in excruciating pain. She stared at him sadly as a single tear dropped from her eye and she took his hand in hers, abandoning the book in her lap. She worried for Harry. She worried about the connection that he shared with Voldemort – not only because of the implications and what it might mean, but also because it put him at risk. The connection had made him almost defenceless against Nagini’s attack because he’d had no control over his body or mind and she doubted that he could even see anything. If she wasn’t so sure that the snake was not actually trying to kill him and was instead trying to hold him for Voldemort, he might actually have died.

They needed to do better. They needed to spend more time meditating and working on his occlumency or the next time this happened it might be the end.

She shuddered as she thought back to the sight of Voldemort crashing through the window and looking at them with such hatred and rage. His blood-red eyes had bore into her, his anger was like a physical presence in the room that made her sick to her stomach. She couldn't understand how anyone could stand to be near that unbearable man. If one could call that thing a man.

She had apparated them away quicker than she had ever done so in her life and the only reason she wasn’t panicking was because she knew that Harry would be okay. She knew that he would come to on his own and she would be there for him when he did. Panicking wouldn’t do them any good. She needed to focus and problem solve. She needed to research ways to better their shielding charm and better prepare them still. This run-in with Nagini and Voldemort had chilled her to her very core, she felt like she had tasted death as he stood before her – he was rank with it, it pooled off of him in waves. The power he emanated was fearful and limitless, and it made her doubt that they would prevail.

But as her mind raced, she could not look away from Harry. She could not stop stroking his hair, fidgeting with his blankets to make sure he was properly tucked in, holding his hand and checking his forehead for a temperature to make sure he was okay. She stared at him for what felt like hours as her hope flittered, her stomach tightened, and her heart felt like it was breaking and healing and breaking all over again. 

They had once again, in just a few short months, almost died. They had once again almost lost everything. She had once again almost lost Harry – and the acknowledgment of her feelings for him or not, had had absolutely no impact on how she felt. She felt the same. She felt the dread, the fear and the worry. She felt the panic and the agony over what had happened regardless of whatever label she slapped on their relationship. She felt the terror just the same – she knew that her feelings for Harry were set. Refusing to acknowledge them for what they were made no fucking difference.

Harry was right. 

This was it. Harry was worth fighting for. They were worth fighting for, and it would not make her weaker to acknowledge it.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open as the small noises from Harry began to get louder. She must have dozed off at some point while sitting beside him. The book she had been holding fell from her lap to the floor as she reached out to grab Harry’s hand. He was twitching in his bed muttering ‘no’ over and over.

“Harry,” she said gently as she took his hand and stroked the hair from his damp face.

“No – No I dropped it,” he muttered as he began to stir more aggressively. “I dropped it!”

“Harry, it’s okay – we’re safe,” Hermione whispered to him as she held his hand firmly. “Harry, it’s alright – you’re alright.”

Harry’s eyes flashed open and he stared around the tent in confusion as he twisted away from her touch until his eyes locked onto hers and she could visibly see the tension fall from his face.

“Hermione,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. 

“Hey,” she said quietly, as a gentle smile pulled at her lips as she looked at him. Cautiously she reached out to brush his hair from his face and then knelt down next to his bed, bringing them closer to eye level. “We’re safe, Harry.”

“We got away?” His eyes never left her face as he spoke, and she could feel his hand grasping hers in return now.

“Yes,” she replied steadily as she held his gaze. “I managed to apparate us away. Harry, are you feeling okay?”

Harry frowned at her question, not at Hermione, but at the words that he did not know how to answer.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly as he averted his eyes to the ceiling before taking a breath and forcing himself to look at her again. “How am I supposed to even answer that?”

His voice broke slightly as he spoke, his throat no doubt sore from all the screaming the day before. She could see the sweat clinging to his body as sat there and his face grew exhausted.

“I was almost useless, Hermione,” Harry said quietly, frustration and pain visible in his eyes. “He was in my head, he had nearly complete control – I couldn’t do anything.”

Hermione watched as Harry let out a tight sigh and ran his hand through his hair. She knew that he was upset, not just about what had happened with Bathilda but with what had happened with Voldemort. That’d he’d been vulnerable and open to such an attack.

“I wouldn’t have been able to get out of there without you,” Harry said quietly, turning to look at her once more. “I saw things, Hermione. When he was in my head – I saw my parents die. I saw that night, the whole thing, clearly as if it were happening before my eyes and I was there. I was Voldemort.”

Hermione gripped his hand tightly as Harry quieted. Her eyes searching his face as she tried to figure out what to say. Shit, she thought to herself in frustration. How am I supposed to comfort him? He just watched his family die in front of him – we need to talk about finding a way to practice occlumency again – but obviously now’s not the time. She decided to wait on bringing up occlumency as she did not want to come across as scolding him, and instead she settled on moving closer to him and resting her elbow on the edge of his bed to prop up her head.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” she spoke sincerely as she continued to carefully watch his face. Her heart was twisting into a painful ball as she examined his exhaustion and sadness. Why is it, she thought, that Harry always has to suffer so much?

“It’s fine,” Harry said as he cleared his throat and closed his eyes briefly as if to blink away the memories. “It sounds weird – perhaps a bit disturbing, but I’m glad I got to see them. I’m glad I got to see that night. I think it’s better to know.”

He paused briefly as Hermione nodded her head in understanding before his eyes brightened and he began speaking with more urgency.

“You Know Who wanted that picture, Hermione – the one of that thief. He was excited about finding it. He’s been looking for him, but I don’t know why – I wasn’t able to tell from what I saw. He was absolutely fucking livid that we got away – and Bathilda wasn’t Bathilda,” his brow furrowed a fraction now as he recalled the events of the cottage. “It was Nagini, somehow she was inside her body – I – I don’t know if Bathilda is dead or if they somehow made a copy of her, but Nagini poured out of Bathilda’s neck the second I took my eyes off her. Bathilda’s body just crumpled to the ground – it was as if she was wearing a Bathilda suit. I – I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“She was dead,” Hermione grimaced as she spoke. She had been planning to wait to tell Harry until later, but it seemed like now was as good of a time as any. “I was looking around the main floor after I cast my shield charm. I went to the kitchens and everything there was spoiled. Bathilda must have been dead for some time for things to be that rancid. The smell was worse by the pantry door so – so – so I opened it.”

Hermione stuttered on her words and clutched Harry’s hand tightly before she continued. The image of what she had seen in that pantry was going to haunt her dreams forever and she knew it. It was etched into the back of her mind and made her shudder to recall it.

“Bathilda’s – well, her – her innards were stuffed in the pantry, Harry. It was like someone had skinned her and her carcass was just left there – but it had gone rotten. There were flies everywhere – there had been a spell cast on the door a while ago to keep things at bay, but it was poorly done and I think it was starting to weaken and that’s why the house smelled so rank.”

She forced the rest of the words out of her mouth quickly as images of Bathilda’s rotting flesh floated through her mind. The flies, the flies had been everywhere – there had been maggots too, crawling out of her red and black rotted flesh. The worst part had been that her face was still visible – or what was left of it. The empty eye sockets and remains of her mouth and nose. Hermione’s stomach rolled over as she clenched her jaw, willing herself not to throw up. She’d become acquainted with death over the last few years – and specifically the last few months – but not like this. Never like this. This was a different level of sadistic, disturbing and heartless methods displayed by Voldemort and his followers.

“Hermione, I’m sorry,” Harry said gruffly as he forced himself to sit up in bed against his pillows and he pulled her up from her knees and into his chest.

She sat on the edge of his bunk and laid her head on his chest as he held her. His sweater was damp on her face from his sweat, but she didn’t care – she felt dirtied by the images in her mind anyways and she knew that she would be scrubbing herself viciously in the shower later to try and rid herself of the rank smell and disturbing scene. She took a few deep breaths and tried to rid her mind of the images of Bathilda’s rotting and skinless body from her mind. She wasn’t crying, her eyes were not even remotely wet – but they had been widening in disbelief and slight shock as she had been recalling what she found to Harry.

She closed her eyes tightly now, and clutched Harry’s sweater with her hand. Fuck, she thought as she continued to empty her mind and clear her thoughts. This is what Voldemort and his followers are willing to do. Skin an old woman and leave her corpse in her own pantry. Hermione had little doubt that the old woman was probably alive when it happened, and this made her stomach lurch once more. How do we fight people willing to do this – willing to commit such horrendous and despicable acts. She turned her face further into Harry’s sweater as she felt detachment wash over her. This was another thing that she would need to deal with later, on her own time. For now, though, she needed to stay focused and be there for Harry.   

“How long was I out?” Harry asked gently when her breathing had evened out, in hopes of trying to bring the conversation around to something slightly less terrible. Which seemed a daunting task given the situation they had been in only moments ago.

Hours,” Hermione spoke softly before she pulled herself from his chest to sit back and look at him. She handed him his glasses from the nightstand but her hand remained on his chest, tightly gripping his sweater between her fingers as if she was worried he would slip away from her grasp. “It’s early morning now.”

Harry nodded as he put his glasses on and his eyes searched over her face, looking for traces of the disturbed and shocked expression she’d had a moment ago when she recounted finding Bathilda. But Hermione looked more in control now – she’d obviously packaged those feelings up and pushed them aside.

“The Horcrux was stuck to you, I had to use a severing charm to get it off of you,” Hermione said quietly as she finally released his sweater and pointed to the spot on his chest where the Horcrux had been. “I used some dittany so hopefully it doesn’t scar – but there could still be a mark there after it heals. Dark magic is different – like the werewolf scars, so it may not work. I fixed your glasses – they were cracked in the attack. I thought it would be a good idea to have some spares so I made some duplicates and charmed them to keep them protected, they're in the purse in case we need them.”

“Thank you, Hermione,” Harry said gently as he reached up to grab the hand that hovered above his chest and then held it tightly in his lap. He didn’t even bother looking at the place where Hermione had pointed. He knew that she would have done everything that she could to fix the burn, whatever remained was going to be what it was going to be. As for the glasses he wasn't surprised – it wasn't the first time that they'd broken in a battle and he was sure it wouldn't be the last. But making spares was a good idea, during their training they'd been practicing odd spells and charms and Hermione had already mastered a simple Gemino spell. Of course she would think to create spares just in case.

“Your arm was broken from Nagini – I healed it – and thankfully her bite didn’t pierce your skin. I figure we should probably look into a way to improve the physical integrity of the shield charm to better protect against physical attacks,” Hermione said as she looked away from Harry and nervously started to fiddle with the hem of her sweater with her free hand.

“What is it?” Harry asked her as he sat up straighter. He knew her antics, and he knew that she was holding something back from him as she slowly revealed more and more details of last night. “What happened, Hermione?”

“Your wand, Harry,” she spoke so quietly that he almost didn’t hear her.

Harry’s face went blank, and Hermione could see the tension in his jaw as she glanced back up at him. Her expression pained as the next words fell from his lips.

“What of my wand?”

“It was broken in the attack, Harry – I’m so sorry – I tried to repair it, I’ve got all the pieces, but I wasn’t able to do it. I think it might have been me – when I cast that blasting charm and it destroyed the house – I – I must have hit it. Harry, I’m so sorry!” She looked at him desperately and winced as his brow furrowed and he shut his eyes. 

She could hear his sharp intake of breath as he processed the information and she felt her heart sink with guilt. She couldn’t even imagine losing her wand and what it must feel like to find out you’ve lost your connection to magic, your ability to cast spells. Her chest was tight with anxiety, she knew it was very likely her fault that Harry was now wandless, and it was killing her. She clenched her jaw nervously and squeezed his hand until he opened his eyes again – they were clear and calm.

“It’s okay,” he said firmly as he looked at her directly. There was not a single trace of anger or blame on his face.

“Harry, I –” but Harry cut her off before she could even finish her sentence.

“You don’t know for sure if you broke it, Hermione,” he said calmly as he squeezed her hand in return. “Nagini could have hit it, I could have fallen on it – I couldn’t see what was going on. Either way it doesn’t matter. It was an accident and we’ll deal with it. Thank you though – for trying to fix it and keeping the pieces.”

Hermione nodded solemnly and kept her jaw clenched. She would feel guilty regardless of whether or not Harry blamed her.

“We’ll just have to share your wand until we come up with something.”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said softly as her eyes glazed over.

“I know,” Harry said as he pushed himself off his pillows and leaned toward her. “I am too but it’s okay, Hermione – I promise. It’s fine – we’ll figure it out.”

Hermione’s lips twitched at his words and a faint blush crept over her face as he leaned forward and kissed her gently on the temple.

“I’m going to go shower though,” he said with a small laugh. “I’m thoroughly disgusting.”

Hermione stood and helped Harry from the bed then she watched as he walked toward the bathroom with clean clothes in hand. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she watched him go. This evening had been another that was simply too much – but the truth was, it was all too much and it was starting to make her wonder if she would be able to take it. Once she heard the shower turn on, she sat back down on his bunk and dropped her head into her hands and allowed silent tears to fall from her eyes as she listened to the water run. 

She wasn’t even sure what it was she was crying about – whether it was for Bathilda, the realization that Voldemort and his followers were capable of actions far worse than she thought, that they had almost died yet again, that Harry had been so quick to forgive her for possibly breaking his wand, or that she worried that he might actually be upset with her for it and not tell her. Her heart still ached at the thought of losing him, and she knew that it was just the compounded stress of everything and the lingering effects of no sleep. 

It’s for everything that’s happened, she thought as the tears streamed soundlessly from her eyes.

After five minutes she steeled her face and wiped the tears from her eyes on her sleeve. Then she forced herself up from the bed to go and make breakfast. Her heart felt lighter, like she had allowed herself to empty her body of the emotions and turmoil that constantly seemed to fill it and she refocused her mind to the task at hand. She still needed to show Harry the book that she had snagged from Bathilda’s house before Nagini had revealed herself and they still needed to discuss their occlumency practice.

Harry exited the bathroom just moments after she had everything prepared and set on the table. They sat and ate their porridge, berries and tea. Harry rested his knees gently against hers under the table and she smiled at him as he talked about how he figured out how to modify their duelling and exercises now that they only had one wand while he was in the shower. Then, to her surprise, he said they needed to meditate more and add more occlumency practice to their routine to try and prevent what happened from happening again. He smiled at her as he dropped more berries on his plate and nudged her knee gently with his own before taking a sip of tea. Her heart raced at the contact and she felt herself smile more genuinely. 

Yes, she thought peacefully as she watched him eat with purpose and continue to talk about his new plans. This is worth fighting for, and we are going to be just fine.

After breakfast Hermione pulled the copy of The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore out from her purse and showed it to Harry. She explained that she had taken it from the living room of Bathilda’s house after Harry had gone upstairs. The book had a note from Rita Skeeter in it, her familiar acid-green spiky writing leaving them both with annoyed scowls on their faces. Rita was such a bitch. The book had clearly never been opened before, evident by its stiff spine.

They abandoned their seats at the kitchen table to go and sit on the transfigured love seat to look through the book together. They were both caught by surprise when they realized that the man from Harry’s vision and in the photo from Bathilda’s house was Gellert Grindelwald. They worked their way through the book, learning that Dumbledore had left Hogwarts in a blaze of glory. That he had returned to Godric’s Hollow to care for his sister and brother after his mother’s death, that Dumbledore’s sister was apparently frail and ill but possibly a squib being kept locked up, and that Grindelwald was Bathilda’s great-nephew. 

The book contained a rather shocking letter allegedly written by Dumbledore to Grindelwald which made them both uncomfortable. Then Rita recounted how after two months of friendship Dumbledore and Grindelwald parted ways until they met again for their legendary duel. Rita had noted that their falling out may have been due to Dumbledore’s sister’s death, and they also learned that Aberforth, Dumbledore's brother, had fought with him at the funeral.

When they finally finished reading the book it was well past noon and Harry had a deep scowl that ran across his face. Hermione’s chest tightened nervously – this was a lot to ask Harry to take. He had held Dumbledore in the highest esteem and now this book was burning every opinion that he’d had of the man to the ground. It had been difficult to read, difficult to swallow and it painted Dumbledore in a light that made even Hermione’s brow crease similarly to Harry’s.

“Harry,” she said cautiously, as she gauged the expression on his face. “I know that the book isn’t pleasant – but you have to remember that this is Rita Skeeter’s writing.”

“Yeah,” Harry said in a clipped tone. “Except that we both read that letter from Dumbledore to Grindelwald. That’s hardly Rita’s writing.”

“I know,” Hermione spoke softly as she tried to choose her next words carefully. She could tell that Harry’s confidence in Dumbledore had been shaken by what they read and she would be lying if she said that her own wasn’t. “I know Bathilda thought that it was all just talk but, ‘For the Greater Good’ became Grindelwald’s slogan – it was his justification. It was carved at the top of Nurmengard.”

“What’s Nurmengard?” Harry asked, his eyes still glued to the book in front of them.

“It was the prison that Grindelwald created to house his enemies – to imprison those who stood opposed to him,” she answered, watching the side of his face as she spoke. “Dumbledore imprisoned Grindelwald there himself once he defeated him. I know that this looks bad Harry, but it seems like they only knew each other for a short while. It’s awful that Dumbledore’s ideas may have helped Grindelwald rise to power but–”

“But what?” Harry asked her tightly. He didn’t yell and he wasn’t angry, instead he just looked blank and lost, and somehow that was worse. She knew that it wasn’t directed at her, but her chest tightened just the same.

“But they were young, Harry,” she started softly before he cut her off again.

“So are we,” his voice was eerily light as he spoke, and she knew that this was cutting him deeper than he would ever say. “We’re young, Hermione – we’re the same age as he was and we’re fighting against the dark arts.”

“I know,” Hermione took a breath to steady her voice as Harry looked up at her. His eyes held a sadness that made her heart ache. “His mother had just died, he was alone–”

“He wasn’t alone, he had his sister and brother,” Harry cut in again. “We’ve lost people too, Hermione.”

“Harry, I’m not trying to defend Dumbledore’s actions,” Hermione said tightly, unable to stop her voice from rising as she grabbed the book, closed it firmly and tossed it on the footstool next to them. “I wasn’t there – I can’t say what was going through his head at the time he befriended Grindelwald. I don’t know if he meant to help or just helped inadvertently – I’m just saying that there is more to the story than what was written by Rita Skeeter in this stupid book. You know as well as I do how she twists words and facts and only uses the information that paints the picture that she wants. Maybe – maybe Dumbledore fucked up, maybe he made a mistake – maybe it took losing his sister for him to realize that he’d been an ass. I don’t know Harry, because I wasn’t there. I just don’t think that we should jump to any conclusions from a book written by that bitch.”

Harry was sitting quietly staring at her with slightly widened eyes as she continued to rant, and her voice grew louder.

“I know how much you respected him, Harry – I can’t even begin to wrap my head around how hard it must be for you to read this. For you to find out that he may not have been who you thought he was. But Harry, he cared for you, he loved you, he spent every year that we knew him fighting against You Know Who and believing that muggles and muggle-borns are worthy. People make mistakes Harry, people change. Maybe he was someone different when he was young – but we know who he was at the end, what he fought for, what he believed in – and isn’t that what matters?”

Harry sighed and dropped his head into his hands for a moment before lifting it and running his fingers through his dishevelled black hair.

“Yes,” he groaned out in pained frustration. “But if I ever get the chance to speak to his portrait, I’m going to ask him – and he better give me some answers. Every day that goes by I feel more and more like I didn’t know him. That he didn’t actually prepare me – that he kept things from me and intentionally withheld details that would have been helpful to know.”

“Yeah,” Hermione snorted gently in agreement. “Yes, you’re right. He certainly had a way of being secretive when it would have been much more helpful to just tell us what the hell was going on.”

Harry sighed again and forced himself up from the couch to start walking toward the kitchen.

“Do you want some lunch?” he asked over his shoulder as he reached for Hermione’s beaded bag on the table. “My body feels dead and I think we should split that last butterbeer.”

Hermione grinned at Harry and got up to join him in the kitchen. They ate a small lunch and passed the last remaining bottle of butterbeer between the two of them. After eating Hermione then showered quickly, scrubbing herself thoroughly to remove any lingering smell of Bathilda’s house from her body. She felt thoroughly disgusting from having sat so long in her clothes from the evening before and was glad that they spent the remainder of the night curled on the couch reading. The day had been exhausting and she could see that Harry was just as mentally taxed as she was from reading the book Rita had printed. They skipped dinner and opted for a light snack before they both went to bed. Feeling safe with the alarms that Hermione had set they decided that for tonight no watch would be required – they both needed rest after the events at Bathilda’s and they knew it.

As Hermione walked into the room after washing her face in the bathroom, she saw Harry sitting at the edge of his bunk with his head in his hands. He raised his head as she approached and watched her as she placed her dirtied clothes into their small laundry basket and began to dim the lights in the tent. Wordlessly he rose from his bunk and walked toward her. Hermione had just turned down the blankets on her bed as he closed the distance between them, and she turned to ask him what he wanted – but he had circled his arms around her before she even had time to open her mouth.

He kissed her slowly, with care, and pulled her close to his body. It wasn’t heated or desperate, and she understood his meaning. She leaned into him and let his tongue enter her mouth as she gripped his sweater tightly. Harry needed her. She had become his one and only constant in this war. He had lost so much – the close support of the Order, Ron, his wand, his faith in Dumbledore. She ran her hand up his chest to rest at the base of his neck before he pulled away slightly. He rested his forehead against hers, eyes still closed, and his words came out as a whisper.

“Stay with me tonight?”

His words ghosted across her face and she could not help but shiver as her heart fluttered at his words. She knew that Harry was hurting right now, and it brought a warmth to her heart that she could not explain that he wanted her near him. She nodded against his forehead and allowed his hands to lead her to his bunk. They both crawled in, Harry nearest the tent wall and Hermione nearest the edge of the bunk as they usually were when they shared the bunk. Harry wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly to his chest, nuzzling his nose into her neck as she closed her eyes and snuggled back into him. It crossed her mind fleetingly that it was now Christmas day and she was snuggled with Harry in his bed. She smiled softly as she nuzzled her head into his pillow.

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” she said softly as she wriggled her foot gently against his.

“Happy Christmas, Hermione,” Harry breathed against her neck as he squeezed her tightly in his arms.

-x-x-

The next morning, they ate a quick breakfast and dressed warmly before they went to start their modified training outside. Hermione was thankful that they began their training right away before her mind lingered too long on the warmth of sleeping in Harry’s strong arms, his breath against her neck and the way that his touch made her heart flutter. Harry’s modifications to their training routine included taking turns with the wand – the person who had it would fire leg lockers and stunners at the person without a wand while the person without the wand would dodge, duck and run to avoid being hit. They switched every 10 minutes and Hermione had to agree that completing this exercise was worth it and she was glad that they did not decide to forgo training now that Harry was without a wand. The exercise made them much more resourceful at evading spells; she started to realize how often she would allow herself to be potentially hit because she knew she could shield or deflect an oncoming spell. Without a wand, she was far more in tune with her movements, positioning and her surroundings as she knew that she needed to truly evade spells and not just block them.

They practiced this way for the better part of 2 hours before they both slumped down by the tent to take a breather and drink some water before they started on the next part of their modified training. This involved them each taking turns using Hermione’s wand to blast more dangerous spells at some unsuspecting dead tree trunks. They then worked to improve their non-verbals and even tried to cast sectumsempra without words. Harry was able to get a single small scratch in one trunk while Hermione was able to get two. Then, Hermione put her wand away and they worked on wandless magic for over an hour. Hermione had been able to lift a leaf off the ground with a wordless and wandless wingardium leviosa, while Harry had been able to conjure a tiny small blue flame.

Hermione had no illusions that they would magically be able to cast defensive spells wordlessly or wandlessly on their first day and she laughed internally at her own pun. But she was pleasantly surprised that she had been able to make the leaf hover for several seconds before it dropped back to the ground, and that Harry had managed to light a small blue flame – even if it did sputter out after only a few moments. This exercise would take time, patience and discipline, but they both agreed that it was worth it and that they would continue to practice it even if they did find Harry a new wand, somehow.

After their experimentation with wandless and wordless magic they had a quick lunch, then completed their meditation and occlumency practice before moving on to their physical exercises. Hermione found it a bit difficult to keep her eyes off Harry as he completed push-up after push-up or as they jogged in several large circles around the tent. Over the past few months of completing their exercise routine Harry had really started to fill out. His frame was no longer lanky or scrawny like it had been for years – his broad shoulders were filled with new muscle, his arms and legs were strong and he had a healthy bulk to him. 

He wasn’t rippling in muscles and he hadn’t transformed into some incredible and unbelievable version of himself – but he was fit, strong, and he held himself with more confidence than he had as a kid. That was the main difference, Harry had become comfortable in his own body. The once lanky, long bones and awkward movements now moved with a determination and purpose that he had lacked before. Harry had changed – there wasn’t a hint of the insecurity and he’d morphed into a man who moved confidently in his own body right before her eyes.

And Hermione found it more distracting than she cared to admit.

It wasn’t just the physical changes in Harry that she found her mind drifting to as they laid on the floor of the tent completing sit-ups as a pair – Harry’s feet resting over hers as they alternated their crunches toward each other. It was the maturity that he now carried in the way that he spoke and the way that he thought. She always knew that Harry wasn’t stupid, he was clever and intuitive – but he had always been a bit hot-headed when he was younger. 

Now, after everything that had happened, he’d embraced his mature side and started to use his critical thinking skills. He exercised it and built on it like it was a tool, using it to his advantage. She could practically hear the gears turning in his head when she watched him read and speak. And the key difference between now and four months ago, was that now Harry paused and thought before he spoke.

As Hermione showered after dinner, washing off the sweat and grime from their exercises she still could not remove her thoughts from Harry. She knew she cared for him – and she knew that however she chose to define, or not define, whatever was happening between them made no difference. 

Losing him would kill her just the same… and she could not escape the conclusion that she had drawn the night before while Harry had laid motionless in his bunk. Being together, accepting her feelings, accepting her fear of losing Harry – while terrifying – was worth fighting for. Harry had been right, it wouldn’t make her weaker. If anything, it would make her stronger. As she ran her hands through her dark wet curls she knew that allowing herself to be with Harry would realistically motivate her to work harder and become stronger – it was exactly as Harry had said to her. He made her want to be better, to be more – just as much as she made him want to grow as well.

She stepped out of the shower and looked into the full-length mirror. 

It had been a while since she had forced herself to stare at her scars and recite the list of things that she was grateful for when seeing her reflection. It had been a while since she had to force herself to smile at her marred skin. It had also been a while since she had really looked at her reflection. She, like Harry, was not the same person that she was four months ago. She traced her fingers over the scars that covered her chest gently as she examined her body – the scars were not the only thing that had changed. Like Harry, she had not undergone some miraculous bodily alteration. She hadn’t become some voluptuous woman with shapely curves. Instead, she stood taller, straighter, and with more dignity than she could ever remember having. Her confidence was much more apparent in her stance.

She did have some curve to her waist, nothing extreme, but the presence of female hips was there. Her breasts had gotten somewhat larger, although they still nothing to write home about at a modest B cup. She knew she would always be on the smaller side based on her own mother’s appearance – but frankly, their diet, lifestyle and intense physical exercise routines did not lend to having huge tits anyway. 

She snorted at this as she looked over her legs and arms. This was where the largest physical change was. Hermione had always been petite and scrawny – she had never been an active person and she always preferred to stick with her books than run around outside with her peers. She’d never played sports either. Now though, since she was exercising intently with Harry and completing their duelling, she had real visible muscles. She looked fit, strong and capable. She found herself smiling as she pulled her loose-fitting charcoal long-sleeved shirt on and her faded denims. The shirt’s collar hung so that her top scar was plainly visible, but she didn’t even blink at it as her mind wandered back to Harry.

She wanted to tell him. 

She wanted him to know how she felt – that she wanted him, that she wasn’t afraid even though she was absolutely terrified. That she wanted to be with him. That he was right, that they were worth fighting for. She gripped the bottom hem of her sweater tightly between her fingers. Running the fabric between her thumb and index finger as she always did when she was nervous. She looked down at her dark purple fuzzy socks before tilting her head back up toward the ceiling. She wanted to give Harry what he wanted, not because she felt pressured and it wouldn’t be any unrealistic promises that could not be kept. But instead, a relationship that was acknowledged and openly admitted – because she wanted it, and she wanted more with him both physically and emotionally.

Taking a breath, she opened the bathroom door and strolled out to the kitchen, her hand still firmly gripping the fabric of her shirt. Harry was standing by the kitchen counter, having just finished cleaning up the kitchen since she had made dinner tonight. He smiled at her as she approached, and she found herself blushing lightly as her heart started to race...

Warnings:

This chapter contains: explicit smut (which can be skipped without missing out on main plot)

******************************************

How should I start this? Hermione pondered as she closed the space between them, noting that Harry stayed in the kitchen and leaned up against the counter.

His eyes had darted from her now blushed face to her hand which was still gripping the hem of her shirt, then back up to her face. She couldn’t help but smile inwardly at the fact that Harry had not even glanced at her visible scars. His one eyebrow was ever so slightly raised, and she began chastising herself for her outward physical tells.

I would be a right shit poker player, she thought as she stopped just shy of the kitchen and leaned against the single center tent post in front of Harry. He clearly knew that something was on her mind, but he remained silent and waited for her to speak first.

“Hey,” she said somewhat shyly, as she looked at him and instinctively crossed her arms over her chest to make herself feel more comfortable. They had taken dinner a bit late that evening and the tent was already dim from the darkness outside.

“Hey,” he said quietly, a small smile on his lips as he looked at her and it made her stomach twist nervously.

Shit, she thought as she looked at him. Her mind was racing, and she wished that she knew what he was thinking. The way that he looked at her – the slight smile he had, the way his eyes heated and danced in the little remaining light as he stared at her, and his relaxed posture as he leaned comfortably against the kitchen counter made her insides squirm in anticipation.

“Harry,” she spoke softly as she felt the blush on her cheeks deepen.

“Hermione,” he said slowly as he studied her face with quiet amusement.

“I was thinking,” she managed to get out, before she found that she lost her confidence to speak further.

“Don’t you always?” he teased lightly as he leaned back further into the counter and grinned widely when she scowled at him.

“Yes, well – I suppose that’s true.” She rolled her eyes, knowing that Harry was just teasing and trying to lighten the mood. He had clearly picked up on the fact that she was nervous to say what she wanted to say. Again, due to her ridiculously poor poker face. “I – um, I think you were right.”

“Really?” Harry said with a small amount of genuine surprise. His eyebrow quirked up before his brow furrowed ever so slightly and he gave her a curious look. “About what exactly?”

Hermione swallowed. Her hands had started to shake so she dropped one of the arms that crossed her chest to lay across her stomach so that she could grip the bottom hem of her soft shirt again. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and Harry continued to look at her in anticipation and confusion. He had no idea of the war that was currently being waged inside her – how her heart was beating erratically, and how her stomach was fluttering wildly as she tried to get the courage to tell him exactly what he had been right about.

“About us,” the words left her lips so quietly that she wasn’t sure if Harry heard them until she saw his shoulders stiffen. She stared at him and waited, waited for him to speak – but he didn’t. He just slowly pushed himself from the kitchen counter and began to close the distance between them.

Hermione pushed her back further into the tent pole as Harry approached and she gripped herself more tightly. She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous to have him move closer to her, he had been close to her before – much closer. But somehow this felt like it was the first time. Probably because it was the first time that it was real between them – or real from her perspective at least. It was the first time that she was openly admitting to herself that she cared for him, wanted him, would be with him and that she planned to outright acknowledge it going forward.

“What do you mean, Hermione?” Harry said softly. He had stopped moving just in front of her and he was now standing only a foot away though he kept his hands at his sides and refrained from touching her. Hermione was still nervously gripping her own body with her hands as Harry stood quietly waiting for a response. His head was tilted to the side, his eyes curious and filled with emotion and her heart was all but hammering in her chest.

“I um,” Hermione stuttered and cleared her throat, then looked down at his chest before forcing herself to meet his gaze once more. 

Courage Hermione, she thought as she forced her back to straighten against the pole and her hands to calm. This was it, this was what she wanted – she knew that she did, now she just had to have the courage to follow through and tell him. This was a moment that she would never forget, the moment where she decided to make things real between them and she knew there was no turning back.

“That it makes us stronger,” she said at last. “Being together, it – it would make us stronger. You were right, Harry, I – I was afraid to acknowledge my feelings. I was afraid to make this real – because I am absolutely terrified of losing you. I – I don’t know what I would do without you, Harry – I – I want to be with you. I don’t want to hide from this, I don’t want to pretend that this isn’t a thing.”

She stared at him determinedly, she had dropped her hands from their comforting position across her chest and they now rested at her sides clenching the hem of the sleeves firmly. Harry was staring at her intensely, his eyes bright as they looked at her.

“Hermione,” he said softly. “You don’t have to do this. I said that I was fine with what we have I don’t want you to–”

“I’m not just saying it, Harry,” she cut him off with a hard look of determination in her eyes. She could feel the fear and anticipation that had been coursing through her body fade away. “After Godric’s Hollow… it – it’s like the third fucking time we have almost died since the end of summer and what I’ve realized is that I am going to be devastated – and I am going to hurt whether I outwardly acknowledge my feelings for you or not. Harry, I – I care for you, I – I want to be with you, I want to see where this goes. I’m terrified of losing you, I’m terrified to screw this up, to ruin what we have or to get distracted from our mission – all of the things that I told you before are still valid and I’m still absolutely petrified of them. But you were right. War or not – this, we, are worth fighting for and it is only going to make me stronger. We will be stronger together, you – you were right, Harry. I want this.”

Harry hesitated a moment, his eyes flooding with emotion before he stepped forward and pulled her into a heated kiss. His hands had planted themselves firmly on her hips and he pushed her back into the tent pole, pushing his body into hers. She latched her arms around his back, gripping his thin shirt tightly as she pulled him in closer. His mouth moved quickly against hers, as if searching her for any doubts, as if in disbelief of what she had said before he pulled away quickly gasping for breath. Hermione’s lips trembled at the loss of contact and she looked up at him in confusion.

“Are you sure?” he breathed out against her lips as he looked down at her intensely.

“Yes, you stupid wizard,” she breathed before she latched her lips firmly to his and pulled his body back close to hers.

Her heart was thudding so loudly in her chest she was positive Harry could hear it. His hands were everywhere – on her sides, her chest, around her back, then tangled in her hair as they kissed like their lives depended on it. 

She moaned into his mouth as he sucked on her bottom lip and he groaned as she pushed her hips into him. Her back was plastered against the tent pole now and Harry angled her head upward so he could kiss her more deeply. His hand on her neck made her shiver against him. It was like they had fallen apart at the seams and all of their pent-up frustrations and want had been released all at once. Harry’s hesitation was gone and he allowed himself to touch Hermione freely and Hermione found her own hands weaving under the hem of his shirt.

He parted her legs with his thigh, pressing hard against her core and she groaned out at the pressure against her center. 

Fuck, she groaned inwardly as she panted for breath and Harry began kissing down her neck. She ran her fingers along his sides and his chest, his skin was hot, and his body was hard. The air in the tent felt thick and the temperature had risen to the point that she worried she might start to sweat. She wanted him, she wanted all of him. It wasn’t just because of the heat of the moment, and it wasn’t just a split-second realization. She had known for a while that she craved his touch, she wanted to feel him against her, she wanted him to be her first.

The thought had crossed her mind over the past few weeks but she had dismissed it as a distracting and stupid idea – thinking that there was no time for such things while in the middle of a war. But now when she thought about it her original opinion seemed stupid and childish. They were in the middle of nowhere and threatened by death at every turn. There was a very real possibility that she would not survive this at all and that she would never have the opportunity to experience sex, or any other aspects of an intimate relationship. 

So, it seemed utterly ridiculous to hold out for a future that may never happen – for an opportunity that may never come. It was like suddenly Harry’s words and Bill and Fleur’s wedding took on a whole new meaning for Hermione. There was a difference between being irresponsible in the face of war and living in the face of war and refusing to allow the war to control her life. Allowing herself relationships, friendships, closeness, joy and physical contact did not make her weak. It gave her motivation, it gave her a reason to continue on even when things seemed at their darkest.

Hermione tugged at Harry’s shirt, pushing it up his chest as he continued to nibble at her neck. Seeming to understand her intent Harry grabbed the hem of his shirt and quickly pulled it over his head before placing one hand back on her waist as the other came up to rest on the side of her face where he stroked her cheek with the soft pad of his thumb. They were both flushed from their kiss and the heat between them, and Hermione felt nervous as she looked at Harry’s chest. 

She had seen him shirtless before… but not like this, not in this way. He wasn’t sporting a ridiculous six-pack, but he was lean and trim, and she could see the muscle definition across his chest and stomach. She felt the heat between her legs increase as she slowly raised her eyes back up to his face. His leg was still pressed between hers but he seemed to be waiting for her to take the lead – for her to define how they were going to proceed.

Carefully, she leaned forward and kissed him again, slowly, sucking on his tongue as it entered her mouth and pushing her hips into his. She could feel his erection against her hip as he groaned out into her mouth. She placed her hands on his bare chest, trying to ignore the slight tremble they had as she felt the heat of his skin. He circled his arms back around her, pushing her firmly into the tent pole as they kissed more passionately. She felt his hands lift the hem of her thin long-sleeved shirt and brush up against her skin. She trembled at his touch, not from fear of him touching her scars, no – she trembled in anticipation of what his touches would bring.

Slowly he raised the hem of her shirt and she raised her arms so he could gently bring the fabric up and over her head. Despite her best efforts to not worry about her marred chest she froze in the dim light of the tent. The glow flickered gently around them in the quiet night as she stood shirtless before Harry, both of her hands clutching at his chest. She had dropped her head after the shirt passed over her and her eyes were now locked to his abdomen. She was breathing quickly from their heated kiss and her heart hammered as she waited for Harry to respond. 

Breathe, breathe, just breathe – it’s fine, don’t worry about what you look like, she repeated the mantra in her head as she tried to empty her thoughts.

“Hermione,” he whispered gently as he dropped his forehead to lean against her own. His hand that was firmly on her hip slowly began to trace up her side as she shivered. “You are beautiful.”

Hermione shuddered against him as his hand caressed her skin gently and he dipped his head back down to capture her lips. He kissed her softly, reassuringly, knowing that this was difficult for her. That it had probably taken every ounce of her courage to let him remove her shirt and then stand bare before him. Slowly she started to respond with more fever, and the pace of their locked lips quickened as he pushed himself into her once more. Her hands travelled down his chest and grabbed onto the belt of his jeans. She tugged it gently before she broke their kiss to speak.

“Harry,” she panted against his ear. “Take me to your bed.”

Harry responded by kissing her fiercely and gripping her hips tightly. They moved together to his bunk just a few steps away, their steps unsteady and slightly clumsy but their kiss unbroken until Hermione’s knees bumped against the frame of his bunk and she dropped back onto it. Without hesitating she moved back against his pillows. Harry followed her quickly, crawling over top of her and locking their lips once more. He was laying between her legs now, hands tangled in her hair again, his hard length pressed to her core as she pushed her hips upwards into him. He groaned outwardly as he pushed back in response, his hands trailing along her body as his lips moved against hers.

It was everything that she needed, everything that she had wanted – and still it wasn’t enough.

Hermione’s body was practically vibrating at his touch, the heat between her legs flared as he grinded against her and all she could think about was how she wanted to be closer to him. How she needed to feel him. Her body felt starved for contact and she found her doubts and endless inner chatter falling away as she pressed into the heat between them and allowed her body to react how it wanted without her mind over-analyzing everything as it usually would. In the strangest way, it was the most freeing feeling that she’d experienced to date – to let her mind empty of its constant worry and to just be with Harry in this moment. To be shirtless with no regard for her scars, to be pasted up against his body and to let go of the control that the war had on her actions and life thus far.

“I want you,” she breathed against his mouth as he thrust his hips more firmly into hers and a groan seeped out between her lips. She couldn’t take the mounting pressure between her thighs any longer and she wanted to take back control of her life, of her experiences and her growth. She wanted to allow her body and mind to have this.

“I want you too, Hermione,” he breathed against her as he kissed her again.

“No, Harry,” she panted against him as she broke their kiss and moved her hand to tug on his belt. “I want you.”

She realized that he had misunderstood her words. He was thinking that she meant that she wanted him in the way that they had spoken of before – which was of course true, but not what she meant at the moment. The tug on his belt had gotten his attention though and he drew back to look at her face. He was propped up on his elbow, hand cradling her neck while his other hand froze along her side. His eyes had widened though they were still hazy with lust from their intense kiss and unbearably pleasant grinding – but her direct statement had sobered him. He was breathing hard and looking at her intently.

“Hermione,” he said quietly, his voice was that familiar deep baritone that made her toes curl in anticipation. “We don’t have to do that yet. You don’t need to rush – I don’t want to push you, we have time.”

“But we don’t know if we truly do have time, do we, Harry?” she said quietly as she looked up at him. Her hand remained firmly on his belt and she snaked the other between them to rest gently on the side of his face. “I’m not rushing. I want this – I want you. I want you to be my first.”

Her words were so quiet that had it been a windy night in the Forest of Dean he wouldn’t have heard her. She felt her heart twist in anticipation as she gauged Harry’s face. His want was evident, and she could see him struggling internally. She knew he was worried that she might be rushing into things between them. 

“Harry, we don’t know what’s going to happen. I want to be optimistic that things will turn out fine and that we will have time together in the future,” she said as she bit her lip nervously, pausing before she spoke her next words. “But Harry, I know how I feel about you and I know what I want. You know I never rush into things, so please don’t worry that that’s what this is. I – I want to do this with you. I’m tired of letting this war take from me – take from us, and I won’t let it take this from us too. I want to know what it’s like, I want to experience this while we know that we have the time.”

She took a breath as Harry dropped his forehead to rest on hers and he let out a small groan between his teeth.

“Harry,” she spoke in barely a whisper. “I want to have sex with you.”

Her chest tightened as his eyes snapped open at her words. She had said it. She made herself say it out loud and now she could not help but feel absolutely mortified with herself. Merlin help me, she thought as she closed her eyes tightly, unable to bear the silence between them or the intense and calculating look Harry had been giving her.

Then she felt his lips against hers, gentle and tentative. He was kissing her slowly, and she could feel his hand tighten on her hip.

“Are you sure, Hermione?” he asked against her lips.

“Yes,” she whispered as she latched her lips more tightly to his.

Harry groaned out at her words as she nervously pushed her hips up into his once more. Her stomach fluttered as he gripped her tightly and he pressed his hips back in response. He brought his hand to her neck, tracing the lines of her while he turned his head to kiss her more deeply. She could feel the restraint Harry had beginning to fall away as their kiss quickened. Hermione brought both of her hands down to his belt and undid the buckle before nervously unbuttoning the top button of his jeans. She could feel the heat of him through the fabric and her hand shook with nerves as she undid the zipper of his jeans.

She was a bundle of nerves. Not doubt – just nerves. She had no idea what to expect, no idea what she was doing, no idea how to touch a man in this way. Harry readjusted himself above her, his lips leaving hers as he sat up and shucked off his jeans so that he was only in his boxers. Then slowly, with intense heat in his eyes, he lowered his hands to her jeans and undid the button. 

She watched, completely still and transfixed as he slowly pulled her jeans down her legs until she was left only in her panties. She had to clench the sheets on his bed to keep her hands from instinctively covering herself from his view. But she remained strong and forced herself to accept her mostly naked presence in front of Harry. 

If I can’t be mature enough for him to see me naked, we shouldn’t be having sex, she thought firmly as she forced herself to sit up and she reach her hands behind herself.

Her hands fumbled as she unclasped her bra and slowly removed the straps from her shoulders. Harry watched her movements, his eyes tracking her hands like a hawk as she pulled the bra away and left her chest exposed for him to see. She could hear his slight intake of breath as he gazed at her and she could feel the heat on her cheeks intensify under this stare. Then she was on her back again, leaned against the pillow as Harry kissed her deeply. He ran his hand over her chest nervously, gently palming her breasts as he muttered that she was ‘perfect’ and ‘beautiful’ against her neck. She could feel his hard length pressed directly against her core, separated only by the thin fabric of her panties and his boxers. It was the most intimate thing she had ever felt and she shuddered deliciously against him at the feel as he pressed himself against her. She moaned out his name as he rolled his hips then teased her nipples with his fingers.

“Harry,” she panted against his neck as she clutched him tightly and bit his shoulder gently. She wasn’t sure where the desire to bite him had come from, but she’d done it before she had even thought it through. Harry’s groan in response made her stomach flutter before she continued. “Harry – pl – please.”

He slid his hand down her side and hooked a thumb under the band of her panties before bringing his lips away from her neck to pull them all the way down to her calves. She kicked them off the remainder of the way and waited while he braced himself on his elbow to pull off his own boxers. Then they laid there, Harry propped up on his elbow – eyes devouring her body as they flicked from her face, to her chest, to the newly revealed space between her legs. She couldn’t help the intake of breath that escaped her as she looked over his body – from his lustful wanting eyes, to his well-muscled chest, to the large erect member between his legs.

She felt the heat in her double, and she found herself wondering how it was going to fit down there.

Sensing her apprehension Harry lowered himself back on top of her and kissed her deeply. She melted against him and moaned when he brought two fingers to slide through her already slick folds. He stroked her clit gently, falling into the rhythm that he had used the last time he brought her over the edge, and the coil in her core wound tightly at his touch. When he slipped a finger slowly inside her she gasped against his lips, her body unfamiliar with the intrusion. She had never had anything inside her before – even in all the times that she had tried touching herself she had only ever danced on the surface and stroked her clit and the sensation was something that she struggled to describe.

Harry was moving his finger inside her as if he was searching for something, stroking gently around. After a moment of his prodding her mind began to wonder what it was he was doing, or if sex was even going to be that enjoyable – aside from the pleasant pressure of having something inside her, she couldn’t help but feel like his finger seemed to be wandering aimlessly without much result. But she pushed her thoughts down and tried to relax, unwilling to give in to her nervousness or worried thoughts that she may not enjoy sex.

He drew back from her to look at her face as he continued to touch her. Her eyes fluttered open to see him staring down at her with a look of concentration in his eyes and heat flushed to her face. 

His finger is inside me and he is just looking at me, the thought occurred before she could stamp it out and embarrassment flooded through her veins. Her mind was starting to over analyze, it was fixated on the ridiculous level of intimacy between them and it couldn’t seem to get over the fact that Harry was watching her. 

Watching me for what? She wondered as her embarrassment continued to grow. She was beginning to doubt this, beginning to think that maybe this was a terrible idea and the whole experience would be awful. She was about to close her eyes or cover her face with her hands when Harry twisted his finger up toward her stomach and stroked against a rough patch of nerves bundled inside her that she didn’t even know existed and her breath caught. He stroked it again and her eyes rolled back as a small moan left her lips. Her hips reflexively thrust against his finger and her eyes fluttered as Harry grinned widely above her.

“There it is,” he said quietly, his voice deep and husky. She didn’t have a moment to question what he meant. He stroked her there again while his thumb pressed gently against her clit and her eyes rolled back once more and fluttered shut. 

She felt her legs fall open wider and she moaned out as Harry continued to move his fingers against her, bringing her closer and closer to the edge as the coil tightened and her breathing quickened. She could feel his hard length pressed firmly against her thigh and she felt him grinding it into her as his fingers shifted between her legs.

“Harry,” she panted, as she pushed her hips up to meet the now two fingers he had slid inside her. “Harry – pl – please.”

Her voice stuttered as she spoke. Her heart was pouding, she was wet, wanting, desperate for his touch and she did not give a flying fuck how she looked right now. She didn’t care how she sounded, or whether or not they were being proper. She just knew that she wanted more. She needed more.

“I won’t last long,” Harry said as he began to gently spread the two fingers that he was still moving inside her. “I can make you come first. It might hurt when we do it, and I won’t – I won’t last long.”

“No,” she gasped out as he circled his thumb over her clit once more. “Harry – please, I want you – I want you inside me, I want to feel you – please, Harry.”

Harry nodded against her neck and she felt his hand fall away from her core as he reached down to his own member. She blushed deeply when she realized that he had stroked himself with her own wetness to add some lubrication. She could feel the heat in her body growing as she watched him pump his length before he moved directly between her legs and paused above her. She looked into his eyes and could see the nervous excitement that they held – she imagined that they looked similar to her own and they smiled nervously at each other before Harry spoke.

“Are you ready?” he asked her in a quiet deep rumble.

“Yes,” she breathed as she spread her legs a bit wider for him.

“If it hurts too much tell me to stop, Hermione – promise?”

“I promise.”

She didn’t look away from his eyes as she felt the tip of his cock press up against her slick folds. 

Her stomach turned in nervousness, her heart was once again racing, and she found that she had to remind herself to breathe. He was looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world when he slowly – oh so slowly, pushed into her. Her breath caught in her chest, her eyes widened as she felt herself stretching to accommodate him, and she found herself gripping his shoulder tightly as her nails dug into his skin.

It didn’t hurt per se, not exactly.

No, she thought. That wouldn’t be the right word. It’s ‘tight’ and it ‘pinches’ and it’s borderline uncomfortable – but it doesn’t hurt. 

She breathed out sharply when he pushed himself in to his entirety, she felt so full and stretched. His eyes fluttered shut as he bottomed out and his head tilted back to the ceiling as he groaned out in the deepest most animalistic sound of pleasure that she had ever heard. He paused for a moment, his body tense as he remained unmoving inside her before his eyes snapped open and he looked down at her through a haze of lust.

“Fuck, Hermione,” he groaned as he dropped his forehead to rest on hers. “Fuck you feel so good. God I had no idea – are you okay?”

His voice sounded a bit tense and Hermione could tell by his death grip on the sheets by her head and the way that he held her side tightly that he was struggling to control himself.

“Yes,” she nodded in confirmation, laying completely still as she looked up at him. She wanted to feel him move, she wanted to see how this went but she was too nervous to do anything on her own. “Yes – you can move, Harry. It’s okay – keep going.”

His jaw clenched tightly in control as he slowly moved himself back out and then pushed in once more. He groaned as he shifted, and Hermione winced slightly at the tightness. 

Still not painful, she thought, though it certainly wasn’t the greatest feeling that she had ever experienced. 

After two more slow thrusts, he dropped his weight to his side so he could move his hand between them to stroke her clit. She groaned as he changed his angle and his slow thrusts started to align with that bundle of nerves he had located earlier. It took a moment for him to find a rhythm and although the movements were still uneven, she found herself moaning against him as he muttered praise against her neck. 

But the feel of him was still uncomfortable, so she forced her mind to focus on the gentle and delicious movements of his fingers against her clit instead of the pinching, tight feeling of him moving inside her. The longer it went on, the more she found it wasn’t so bad. Actually, it was even a bit enjoyable – if the pinching tightness from her core were to eventually go away, she would be able to come undone like this and she began to understand why people thought sex was so bloody fantastic.

Because the full feeling of having him inside her was unlike anything else.

After several more slow thrusts Harry’s breath hitched and he quickened his pace before he came undone. His hands fisted the sheets tightly by her head, his dishevelled hair fell in his face as he gasped out her name along with a collection of expletives in groans. His head tilted back toward the ceiling of the tent as he came and his expression looked almost pained. 

His whole body had tensed in his final quick thrusts and his hand on her clit fell away to brace himself tightly on her hip. Hermione watched him in awe, wondering if this was what she looked like when she came because the only word that crossed her mind as she looked up at him was beautiful. The heat at her center continued to burn as she felt him fill her up as he came inside her. When he finally stilled he dropped his head down to rest his forehead against hers as he panted, eyes still shut tightly. She watched him come down from his high, gripping his shoulders tight as his breathing started to slow and his pinched expression relaxed into what could only be defined as pure bliss.

“Sorry,” Harry murmured, his breath uneven and ragged. “I – I couldn’t stop myself from coming. Did – I – did I hurt you?”

“No,” she breathed against him before he gave her a slow and passionate kiss.

He dropped to his side and brought his hand back to her center. He traced his hand over her clit in slow circles as he kissed her lazily in contentment.

“Harry,” she said between their kisses. “You don’t have to – it’s okay.”

“I know,” he murmured as he grinned against her neck and he nipped her skin gently. “But I want to”.

Hermione shivered under him as he began to rub her clit in the way that he knew would make her come. He was still hard inside her, and she found that the tight feel of him there was only making the way that he was touching her feel even better. She writhed against his fingers and allowed the moans of pleasure to pour past her lips. 

She clung to him tightly as he quickened his hand and brought her to orgasm. Without even realizing it she found that she was thrusting herself on Harry’s slowly softening member as she came and her body grew limp with exhaustion as she came down from her high. Harry was laying next to her and at some point, his cock had slipped from her channel. She rolled on to her side to face him as she tried to catch her breath, bringing her hand up to stroke the damp hair away from Harry’s eyes. She knew that her own curls were a wretched disaster at this point and they would be a lost cause until they were washed again.

They laid there quietly for several minutes, but she found that the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Harry was running his hand up and down her upper arm while they looked at each other. She never would have thought that she could stare into someone else’s eyes for such a long time without it being awkward – but this wasn’t. 

It felt surreal, and intimate and… perfect, her brain supplied. She could see everything in his eyes. His hope, his wants, his dreams. The way that he looked at her she could tell that he felt the same way as she did. He would do anything for her because he cared for her, he needed her, he – her brain stopped and her heart fluttered. 

He loved her. 

She could see it. It almost poured from his eyes. She swallowed hard, too nervous to think too long on that last one, but she could feel her heart bursting at the seams as she looked at him. Maybe it was her post-orgasm high, or the fact  it was because she was laying next to Harry naked, but she could not stop the string of words as they floated to her mind. 

I love him.

She knew that she did. She had for years, but back then it had been different. She loved him because he was her best friend, he was the person she could count on most and they were a team. 

Though, that hasn’t changed, has it? she thought as she traced the contours of his face with her thumb. He’s still my best friend, he’s still the only person I can count on and we are still a team. 

She still loved him like that... but now the words tugged deeper at her heart and they seemed to take on a whole new meaning. She could feel it deep down to the core of her being and she instinctively knew that it would never change. It couldn’t. They’d been through too much together, he was the only person who knew her and in some ways – this had been inevitable. She was surprised when her mouth opened and seemed to move on its own accord.

“Harry I –“ she paused as her voice caught in her throat. “You know that I–”

Harry laid there, his eyes unmoving from her face as he waited for her to finish. Hermione clenched her hands determinedly in the sheets, and her heart tightened in her chest as her eyes searched his face. She had decided not to waste the time that they knew they had with waiting for sex – and this should be no different. She wanted to make sure that she was able to tell him, so she forced herself to be brave one final time that night.

“I love you, Harry,” she whispered, and she felt her heart stutter with nervousness in her chest.

Harry’s hand stopped stroking her upper arm and for a second Hermione thought that she might be physically ill by his lack of response – then he pulled her tightly to his chest.

“I love you, Hermione,” he said gently in her ear as he held her close.

She felt her heart thud hard at his words and she buried her head against his chest as a smile broke out across her face. She could feel her eyes prickling with tears as her chest began to tighten. 

She knew that this was probably an immature and childish declaration of love compared to what Molly and Arthur, or Tonks and Remus shared – but she didn’t care. They had been through so much, they had fought and stood by each other for years and she knew that she cared for him. Perhaps her love was young and immature, and perhaps it wouldn’t compare to that of others – but it didn’t make it any less real, and she needed Harry to know that he was loved.

That she loved him. 

That she would continue to love him. She gripped him tightly as she laid in his arms, face pressed firmly to his chest, listening to his breathing. They laid in each other’s arms for several minutes, content, calm and relaxed with Harry squeezing her close until he abruptly pushed her back from him and met her gaze with anxious concern. She stared at him in confusion, wondering why he looked so tense and why he seemed slightly uncomfortable.

“Hermione – I – I didn’t, did you,” his words were flustered and stuttered, and a deep blush spread across his cheeks. “We didn’t use any contraceptives.”

“Oh,” Hermione let out a small laugh as a blush flooded her face and her confusion floated away. “Harry’s it’s okay – I should have said something earlier, I didn’t even think to mention it – I’m already on one. I took one during the summer.”

“Oh thank god,” Harry sighed in relief as he let out a deep breath. Then his brows furrowed in confusion. “Wait, not that I’m complaining – but why did you take a contraceptive potion?”

Hermione blushed deeply at his words and looked down at his chest before she responded.

“Mrs. Weasley,” she said with an embarrassed sort of shrug. “She made Ginny and I take one this summer before the wedding – she’d brewed a batch for all the girls – she even tried to get Fleur to take it in hopes that it might delay Bill and her from having a kid ‘too soon after just getting married’. But when Fleur found out that it would last for a year she refused.”

“It lasts for a year?” Harry asked somewhat incredulously.

“Yes,” Hermione laughed now as she realized that Harry didn’t know anything about it. “It’s the same one that Madam Pomfrey encourages all the girls to take at school starting in 6^th year. Obviously, the teachers don’t condone sex while at school, but they’re not stupid and they know that it happens. So, to try and prevent teenage pregnancy, at the start of the semester each year Madam Pomfrey hands out contraception potions that last for the year. I took one in 6^th year because it also helps with… other things – so when Mrs. Weasley pushed for us to take one during the summer I thought that it was a good idea since I wasn’t sure what was going to happen or if we’d be going back to Hogwarts. Otherwise I would have taken one of the ones that Madam Pomfrey handed out again.”

Harry nodded in understanding, not asking what Hermione meant by other things. She was grateful for that, as it saved her the conversation of how contraception potion helped regulate your period and hormones during your cycle. Not that she wasn’t comfortable talking to Harry about those things – just that right now she wanted to enjoy being close to him.

“Well, it’s a good thing that you’re on the ball,” Harry muttered as he pulled her back into him and held her tight. “I didn’t even think about it until after.”

Hermione laughed against his chest as they laid there a little while longer. After a while they both started to get cold, and Harry slowly untangled himself from her arms to pull on his jeans before heading to the bathroom. Hermione threw on her shirt and panties then used the bathroom once Harry was finished. She was surprised to find that her legs moved stiffly, and Harry asked her twice if she was sure she was okay as she passed him on her way to the bathroom. 

She’d kissed him gently and reassured him that she was fine – and she was. She was stiff, yes, and she felt stretched and perhaps a bit sore – but she wasn’t hurt, and she definitely did not regret her decision. She imagined that the more you had sex the better it felt, and she couldn’t quite stop the blush and grin that spread across her face at the thought of being with Harry again.

He decided to take the first watch that night, and Hermione decided to sleep in his bunk after she quickly changed his sheets. She grinned as Harry dropped an extra blanket over her and kissed her slowly and deeply, stroking the side of her face gently before he pulled away.

“Wake me up if anything happens, okay?” Hermione called to him as he went to leave the tent.

“You know I will,” he called back with a small smile.

Hermione rolled to her side to watch the entrance of the tent before she fell asleep and she could not seem to stop smiling. She couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened – that Harry and her were together, that she had fully reclaimed her confidence in her body after the brutal attack, and that she was no longer going to allow the war to dictate her life. 

Hermione Granger is no longer a virgin, she thought as she closed her eyes and let out a contented sigh. It had never been an issue for her and it wasn’t something that she had been anxious to lose or anxious to change. It had never really even been a thought in her mind – but she was happy that it happened, because she was happy with how it had happened and who it had been with. 

It was with Harry – her best friend and the person that she cared about more than anything in the world. She loved him, she would always love him and being with him was the most intimate and special thing she’d ever felt. She wouldn’t have wanted to experience that with anyone else. No, the sex itself hadn’t been perfect and she could feel a dull pain between her legs. But the moment was perfect, and she felt more alive than she had in months.

And she is no longer going to bow to her fears or let the war control her, she thought as a small smile tugged at her lips. She nuzzled her face into Harry’s pillow as comfort eased through her bones. It smelled of him, and the last thought she had before falling asleep was how perfect this Christmas had been.

Harry sat outside the tent on a large log that he had dragged over from some nearby trees. This log had not suffered the same fate as those at their last camping location – it was free of scratches and had not been exploded by their duelling practice. It was a surprisingly comfortable seat, so he made a mental note to keep this log as a lookout chair and to locate some different ones tomorrow for duelling practice. 

The air was cold, quiet and still. Not a single movement except for the small cloud he made each time he exhaled could be seen. Harry hugged the jar of blue flames tightly to his chest, despite the chill he was content, happy and could not shake the smile that lingered on his lips.

Hermione loved him. 

Hearing her say those words made his heart feel calm, and made his soul feel like it had a place to belong. After losing Sirius in fifth year Harry’s hope of having a family after Voldemort was defeated had slowly melted away. While he knew that he belonged in the Weasley family – Molly and Arthur had all but legally adopted him as their seventh son – he still felt a deep emptiness where he knew a sense of belonging should be. When he first got together with Ginny, he had once again gained that feeling of true belonging and it was the feeling that he had craved since those long, dark, cramped nights in his cupboard. However, when he and Ginny split up – despite it being completely mutual and what he knew they both wanted – he still could not help but feel like he had once again lost his place in the world and the opportunity to have a true family.

Though he knew that the Weasleys would still accept him even if he never married into the family, he could not help but wonder how close they would truly be once this war was over. A tiny part of him worried that his relationship with the Weasleys could be permanently damaged by his relationship with Hermione. 

As he sat on his surprisingly comfortable unscathed log, thoughts of Ron popped into his head and a small part of him felt guilty – he had just had sex with the girl that Ron supposedly liked. He stared down at the jar of blue flames, watching it flicker gently as it cast shadows against his hands while he shook his head to dispel the guilt. The thought was somewhat ridiculous really, he knew that the guilt was unwarranted. While some would see him as a treacherous and perhaps backstabbing friend, Harry knew better. He hadn’t broken Ron’s trust by falling for Hermione and sleeping with her. Ron had never truly liked Hermione in the first place – at least not in that way and he knew it because they had spoken about Hermione a few times in their dormitory last year.

It was blatantly obvious that Ron’s feelings were largely based on the proximity between him and Hermione, and the fact that in the last year Hermione had grown ‘sort of nice tits’ – as Ron had so graciously put it. Combine that with her now noticeable slender and feminine waist and Ron was instantly interested from a physical perspective. Which was no surprise, Ron was much more at the mercy of his hormones than Harry seemed to be. The redhead had commented on several female classmates over the last twelve months and his interest always seemed to vary day by day depending who he spent more time with and who was wearing ‘particularly fit clothes’. 

At the time Harry had never really paid it much attention because he’d had more important things going on. Now, looking back on it, the truth was Ron’s behaviour was a bit annoying.

Ron’s interest in Hermione had only started when she gained her more female figure and became appealing to look at from Ron’s perspective. Prior to that, Ron never even acknowledged Hermione as a female let alone as a potential suitor and he had often hurt her feelings by being rude or inconsiderate. The Yule ball was a prime example of that and thinking about it made him cringe. The two of them had absolutely nothing in common and they argued constantly as Ron continued to use Hermione for help with homework. If anything, ever had happened between them, it never would have lasted. Anyone with a brain could have seen that a relationship between his two friends would have been disastrous unless Ron magically matured overnight. Given some space and exposure to other women, Harry knew that Ron would latch on to the next girl just as easily.

Besides, Harry thought bitterly as he gripped the warm jar more tightly. I’m not sure I care if Ron’s upset, I’m not sure I even feel bad about it. 

To be frank, at the moment Harry was not even sure that he considered Ron his friend anymore, and he knew that Hermione had forever changed the way that she viewed Ron as well. She wasn’t angry, she was just realistic, and she had detached herself from the situation. She had long ago started to cut the strings that attached her to Ron, and she was debatably more disconnected than Harry was. Ron leaving had seemed to break something within her, it had made her harder, colder, and much more realistic.

At the end of the day, Ron had abandoned them, plain and simple. He left them when they needed to stick together, when they needed to be strong – when they needed him most. He always knew that Ron was immature and a tad bit unreliable, but the boy’s choice to leave had been a hard blow to their friendship. It had made something deep within Harry snap and truth be told he felt like the damage was irreparable because this wasn’t the first time… but it had been the worst. So, if and when he ever saw Ron again, he wasn’t sure what they would be going forward. 

They certainly wouldn't jump back into how things were before he left.

No, Harry thought as he gazed back out into the woods. Ron lost that right.

If he was ever to be a part of his or Hermione’s life again, he would need to start over and re-earn their trust. He would need to work his way slowly bit by bit into their lives – and knowing Hermione, it was possible that Ron would never be able to repair the damage he had done. While she didn’t exactly hold grudges, she did remember everything. And while she often offered forgiveness and understanding, Hermione did not confuse that with reconciliation or trust. She was strict, fierce and did not fuck around when it came to loyalty.

A small smile graced his lips when he thought back to Marrietta and the jinx that Hermione had placed on the DA sign up page. His heart fluttered when he thought of her fierce loyalty and determination – it was one of the things that he loved most about her. 

Yes, he thought with a sigh. If Ron ever does come back, he is in for a rude awakening when it comes to Hermione. She will not go easy on him.

The truth was, it was difficult to feel guilt about what had happened between him and Hermione when everything had changed. It felt like a lifetime since Ron left and he and Hermione were both different people. Combine that with what had happened – an immature boy who had abandoned his best friends in their time of need – and with the things that Ron had said as he left… it was hard to give a shit about how he might feel. Harry knew that his only true regret would be if he were to lose the closeness with the Weasley family as a result. 

He just hoped that Arthur and Molly were objective enough to understand what happened and that the one to cause the damage between them was Ron – but he would have to deal with that and deal with Ron at a later time. There was nothing he could do in the middle of the night sitting in the snow.

Instead, he allowed his mind to wander back to Hermione and the warmth of her touch against his skin and the words that she had allowed herself to speak. He had been a bit surprised by Hermione taking the bold step of acknowledging her feelings for him and he was even more surprised that she had actually decided to voice those feelings. 

From the look that shone in her eyes, he knew that she meant it, and that she wanted him to know – needed him to know that he was loved. It made his heart ache with joy that she understood so easily how he felt and what he needed most above everything else – a place to belong, and a place to know he was wanted. It meant more to him than he would ever be able to explain in words that she had been willing to share her feelings with him despite her own fear and anxiety over the war.

He had meant it when he told her that she didn’t need to rush and that he was genuinely happy with whatever she was willing to give him. That said, he certainly wasn’t going to complain about the events of this evening. It was by far the best Christmas that he had ever had in his life, and he couldn't stop thinking about the feel of Hermione’s soft skin against his body or the way that she had trembled under his touch as she pulled him closer. 

He had been completely caught off guard by how fucking amazing sex felt too. He knew that it would feel good but holy shit, he really did not expect the heat or how tight the clamp of her walls against him would be. 

Or how bloody brilliant it felt to move inside her, his mind offered as he sat there staring into the night. His body still tingled from the intense climax he’d had; it was definitely the hardest he had ever come in his life. Honestly, he was a bit concerned that he might have blown some blood vessels during the experience. And that was just the physical side. Being inside her like that, moving with her, against her, in her and being that close – he felt a shiver run down his spine as he recounted it. He felt closer to her than ever – and he knew that he never wanted to go back to anything else.

His eyes scanned the wooded area around him as he remembered the look on Hermione’s face when he had finally managed to find that little bundle of nerves inside her. After their snogging sessions, he had started to do some reading on female anatomy – for educational reasons of course. He was never planning to push Hermione into anything until she instigated it, but he wanted to be prepared. Maybe it sounded clinical and perhaps some of the guys from school would have laughed at him, but he didn’t care. It had clearly been worth it. 

He couldn't stop the self-satisfying smirk that graced his lips when he thought about the other boys his age who had fumbled around during their first time and how he had managed, for the most part, not to be one of them. He’d heard stories in the boys’ dormitories about some pretty rough first experiences – and he was very happy that he had decided to take a leaf from Hermione’s book and do some research on the topic beforehand. He cringed at the idea of having his first time end in tears and embarrassment like it had for Seamus – who had apparently gotten drunk at his family’s Christmas get together in sixth year, accidentally hooked up with a distant cousin, and then ended up coming in her eye after trying to pull out after two thrusts when the girl had smacked him and said it hurt too much.

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

He had been a bit worried that he might have hurt Hermione when he lost control at the end and thrust into her quickly – but she had reassured him that she was unharmed. From the expression on her face during, he could tell that she was intrigued by the activity – but he suspected that she did not particularly enjoy it. That said, she didn’t seem to be in pain during it either.

He made a mental note to ask her next time what felt good or if there was any other way that he could do it to make it feel a bit better for her. It felt a bit unfair that he was in such extreme pleasure, and she was left feeling unsure of it while tolerating what was probably uncomfortable. Apparently, it got better the more you did it – so said Lee Jordan. But until that happened, he felt better knowing that he had been able to make her come while he was still inside her and her gentle thrusting against his softening member left him hopeful that this could become an enjoyable experience for both of them someday.

Truth be told, he hadn't expected her to want to go that far so soon, but her reasons were practical and logical – just like her. And it exactly complemented his reasons for wanting to be with her. He didn’t know how much time he would have with her, or if they would make it through the war and he believed that having her at his side made him feel stronger, it made him motivated to keep trying. 

The events of Godric’s Hollow had highlighted his single biggest flaw and thinking about it made him groan as he rubbed his hands across his face. His mind was weak to Voldemort and if he could not find a way to close it, it would be their downfall. He should have tried harder to learn occlumency when Snape had tried to teach him in fifth year. While he adamantly maintained that Snape had been a right bastard in his training approach, he could not deny the fact that he hadn’t tried as hard as he could have either. This was his fault and he needed to fix it.

Their modified training routine would help. Not only would he work to strengthen their shield charm against physical attacks, not only would they increase their workouts and make their duels more elaborate – he would add in more meditation and occlumency. Even though neither of them could use legilimens to test it, it didn’t matter. He would do it anyway, and he would learn to control his mind. What happened at Bathilda Bagshot’s would never happen again. Never. He couldn’t let it, because the next time Hermione might get hurt. She had already come close to dying due to his incompetence… it wouldn’t happen again.

He was taken from his thoughts when he felt a small breeze float past his cheek and a whisper of a touch against the outermost protective alarm. It felt like something had brushed up against the perimeter of the alarm but didn’t cross through the shield. 

He tensed on his spot, tightening his grip on Hermione’s wand and squinting his eyes to see into the dark of the forest. He stood slowly and sidestepped silently toward the door of the tent. His eyes darted around as he strained his ears to listen for any unusual sounds, but the silence of the forest was deafening, and his ears felt like they were starting to ring. The first alarm had been set 600 meters out, so he had time to react and to warn Hermione if something happened. So far, he couldn’t hear or see anything, and a quick detection spell showed no evidence of anything alive being present. When he felt the gentle brush on the shield for the second time, he slowly backed toward the tent to get Hermione.

-x-x-

Hermione was woken from a deep sleep by the faint brushing of something against the outermost alarm spell. It felt like a light breeze or a feather had touched her mind. The touch had been gentle and cautious, it didn’t feel like someone had blindly stumbled upon the alarm without knowing it was there. Whatever it was – it didn’t breach the shield, so the alarm had not been fully set off. 

She had tied her alarms to Harry so that he could feel them too and she was sure that he must have felt the contact. She pushed her messy curls from her face and rubbed her eyes, sitting up quickly on Harry’s bunk and placing her feet on the freezing floor. Whatever had brushed gently against her spell must have sensed it beforehand as the touch was almost tentative and unsure, if not inquisitive – which made her brow furrow as her tired mind raced to try and figure out what might have happened.

She stood up fast, grabbed her purse from the nightstand and wandlessly summoned a pair of pants, socks, the locket and her warm tight-fitting long-sleeved sweater. They had left the locket in her purse for the day so they could have a break from it – which turned out well given the activities that they had partaken in. But she, like Harry, did not trust leaving it in her purse unattended for too long. 

She dressed quickly and was pulling on her last sock when she felt a gentle brush against the shield for a second time. Her head darted up toward the door, her eyes wide with caution – she needed to go get Harry, something was going on. Despite how tired her body felt from their earlier activities, she grabbed her jacket and boots and walked toward the exit. She made it almost to the tent door when she saw Harry backing inside the tent, holding the flame jar at his side and her wand tightly in his raised hand.  

"Harry," she said in a low whisper as she began to pull her curls into a loose braid at the back of her neck.

Harry turned his head a fraction, indicating that he had heard her, but he did not remove his eyes from the tent doorway.

"You felt it too?" He whispered back.

"Yeah,” she said as she began to pull on her boots, lacing them quickly and standing to put on her jacket. “Did you hear anything out there, or see anything?”

“No,” he said quietly, and she could see his brow furrow slightly. “It’s dead quiet out there to the point that it’s deafening. Something just brushed the alarm twice, but it didn’t go off. I cast a detection spell, but nothing showed – do you think someone might have noticed our shields and they’re lingering on the edge of our secure zone?”

“I'm not sure,” she stated slowly as she approached to stand at Harry’s side and look out the door of the tent. The cold air woke whatever remained of her sleepy state and she felt alert as the cold stung her cheeks. Her breath puffed out when she whispered next to his side. “If someone is lingering on the outskirts, Harry – we need to go. Whatever that was – it was purposeful, the touch wasn’t careless and it wasn’t an accident, the alarm would have been set-off if it was.”

Harry nodded silently beside her, his eyes still scanning the dark forest that surrounded them.

“We should pack up then,” he whispered after a moment and finally turned to face her. Hermione could see the concern in his eyes. “Here, take your wand and get started – I’ll grab what I can by hand.”

Hermione nodded once in affirmation and began to summon the loose items from the tent and pack them into her purse. They moved silent as the night, unspeaking and focused. Harry had collected the books she had left out and several other items from around the tent. In a few short minutes they had everything inside the tent packed away and Hermione was walking to join Harry at the entrance when they both froze – their eyes locked intently, and Hermione shivered. 

There was a brush against the second alarm at 400m out. The hair on the back of her neck stood, and she walked rapidly toward Harry, seeing the tight line of his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

“I’ll get the north side, you get the south,” he directed as he moved to begin collecting tent pegs.

Hermione moved quickly, each step purposeful as she went to the south side of the tent to remove the sticking charms and pull out the tent pegs. She shivered again as she felt the gentle feather-like touch brush against her 300m alarm, the contact was so soft and gentle she couldn’t figure out what it was or what was happening. There was definitely contact, something was absolutely making its way through her alarms and its pace was quickening, but whatever it was couldn’t be alive or it would have set off the charms.

Thankfully, they were both capable of completing these basic spells without wands, so when she met Harry back at the entrance, he had completed the north side of the tent with no issue. They both tensed and looked at each other with concern as the 200 meter alarm was brushed with the same light contact. Hermione raised her wand quickly and cast the spell to collapse the tent as Harry opened her purse for her to pack up the disassembled and shrunken tent inside. 

Whatever it was that was moving toward them was picking up its pace – almost like its first movements through the alarms had been cautious to ensure nothing was set off. She had just finished storing the tent when she felt the last alarm brushed. Hermione stood quickly at Harry’s side, her left hand grasping his tightly as she raised her wand in front of them. She was just about to apparate them away when Harry spoke in a low and urgent whisper.

“Wait,” he said as he gripped her hand tightly.

“Harry what –“ her words died on her lips when she turned to look at Harry, but her eyes caught the bright silvery-white object that Harry was staring at to his left. They stood perfectly still; hands tightly clasped as the light approached them until its form became clear. “A patronus?”

“A doe,” Harry said quietly as he looked at the beautiful creature that stood about 20 meters in front of them now. The patronus had stopped its approach and appeared to be cautiously lingering by a tree as it stared at them. 

That makes sense, Hermione thought as she looked at the doe but kept her wand raised and her ears focused for any sound around them. A patronus wouldn’t set off the alarms that she had set as it was not alive. The alarms she had been using alerted of breeches by any living creature – aside from the natural wildlife that she had made exceptions for, not wanting them to be woken up anytime a mouse ran past the perimeter or a bird swooped in and out – but she had never considered a patronus when she constructed the alarms. The doe took a few tentative steps forward and tilted its head gently as it looked at them, then began walking slowly to the right before it stopped and looked back at them as if waiting.

“Harry,” Hermione spoke in her low whisper. “Do you think it has a message for us? I don’t know anyone who has a doe patronus – do you?”

“No,” Harry said slowly, as a frown crossed his face. “But I think it wants us to follow it.”

Hermione exhaled in frustration, her warm breath clouding in front of her face as she tried to calm the nerves that began to twist within her stomach. She knew that Harry was right. The patronus was clearly motioning for them to follow by cautiously walking toward them, then moving further to the right and stopping each time to look over its shoulder at them as if waiting. The doe never got closer than 20 meters away and it seemed patient in its motions.

“Harry, I don’t know,” she said cautiously as she looked between the doe and his face. “This could be Godric’s Hollow all over again – what if this is just another trap, who would send a patronus here and why?”

“I know,” he said slowly as he watched the deer. She could tell that he was thinking things through as he stood quietly for a moment before he gripped her hand more tightly and spoke. “It doesn’t feel like Bathilda’s though, does it? I mean I don’t know anyone who has a doe patronus but – this feels familiar, calm – I can’t explain it, but I don’t have any sort of sense that it wants to cause harm. Whoever cast it either sent it from afar to send a message of some sort – or they’re waiting on the edge of our alarms because they can’t get to us without setting them off.”

“I agree,” she breathed quietly as she looked into the pale eyes of the doe before them. She sighed again. “Okay – fuck, okay – so what do you think we should do? If it has a message, it would have come to us by now, so it’s clearly trying to lead us somewhere. I agree that it doesn’t feel like Bathilda’s but that doesn’t mean that it’s safe. I don’t want to walk into another trap – but I also don’t want us to apparate away from someone who might be here to help us.”

She gripped Harry’s hand more firmly as she rolled the options over in her mind.

“It’s possible,” she continued. “That the doe belongs to someone we know, but whose patronus we haven’t seen before. We don’t know Molly’s – it’s possible it could even be hers. I just don’t know Harry.”

Harry had squeezed her hand once in return and took a tentative step toward the doe.

“I think we should follow it,” he paused slightly when he heard Hermione exhale in frustration again. He knew she was torn – there was no winning in this situation and with no clear logical choice he knew that she would struggle to make a decision. The fact was – if it was a trap and they walked directly into it they could be completely fucked. But, if it was a friend who had come to them and they walked away from it they could also be completely fucked. It was possible that a friend had finally located them and came with either supplies or information, both of which were critical and there was no guarantee that whoever it was would be able to find them again. And he knew that Hermione knew this. “We can cast our shield charms, we’ll move slow and cautious, cast detection spells every few meters and maintain contact. If anything happens, we leave right away. I just – if it’s friendly and we leave we might never meet up again and what if they’re here with something we need?”

“I know,” Hermione ground out through her teeth. “I thought the same thing – I just can’t believe we’re doing this again – fuck, why is nothing ever simple.”

“Why is it always us,” Harry whispered back with a nervous smile, sounding so much like Professor McGonagall had back in sixth year. Hermione couldn’t help the small smile that tugged across her lips at his comment.

“Well – at least we’ll never be able to say our lives were boring,” she sighed as she stepped forward to stand next to him again and stood as close to him as possible. Harry used his free hand to grip her forearm through her coat, and now, holding her with both hands, he pulled them even closer together. Then, they both took another step toward the doe.

The doe had been watching their exchange patiently and once they took a few steps towards it, it had turned to face forward and began walking toward the outer edge of their alarms. Every so often Harry and Hermione stopped to cast homenum revelio while never letting go of each other’s hand and each time the doe waited for them to complete their spell before moving forward again. When they were within 50 meters of their last alarm they stopped and crouched low to the ground, their homenum revelio revealed nothing and they still could not hear or see anything in front of them. If someone was waiting for them on the other side of the alarm, they were not anywhere close to it.

“We’ll cast the shields now,” Hermione whispered as she pointed her wand at herself and whispered Plenus-Protego-corPus-LoComotor. 

The familiar purple spell quickly incased her body before becoming transparent, then she handed her wand to Harry for him to cast his own. She noted that the doe appeared to be watching them with interest as they each cast their shields – its head was once again tilted to the side, long-lashed eyes staring at them almost curiously. Once both shields were fully engaged, they each set an internal timer and stood to begin following the doe at their slow and steady pace. As they crossed over the final alarm threshold Hermione cast another detection spell to ensure that no one was hiding nearby – and much to her surprise, once again nothing was revealed.

The doe continued to lead them for another 100 meters until it moved out on top of a large frozen pond, its gentle hooves leaving no prints in the snow. It stood over the pond on a patch of cleared ice, pawed gently at the surface and then began to fade away – the bright light of its silvery form disappearing into the dark night. 

Hermione raised her lit wand to illuminate the surface of the pond before she prodded it gently with her foot. There was no doubt that the surface was frozen solid, with the cold weather they had been having this pond would be sturdy as the stone floors of Hogwarts. They both took a step out onto the ice and paused as if waiting for something to happen – but nothing did. Continuing to grip each other tightly they made their way to the center of the pond to the clear patch on which the doe had previously stood. As they closed the last few steps Hermione saw it – the silver glint of what looked like a cross and she heard Harry gasp as he pulled her forward over the last 3 steps.

“Hermione,” he said in disbelief as they both lowered themselves down to kneel on the ice. “It’s the sword – it – I – I can’t believe this, it’s the fucking sword!”

He was whispering but she could hear the excitement and release of tension in his voice. If this was an ambush it would have happened already. The second that they were free of the alarms and wandering through the open forest they would have been attacked. She knew Harry had determined this as well, but she cast one final detection charm to soothe her inner worry and sure enough, nothing came back. It would be ridiculously unlikely for someone to spend the effort to lure them here, place the sword of Gryffindor under the ice and wait for them to find it only to then attack them. 

That wouldn’t make any sense, she thought as she shone her wand light down at the sword. No, whoever brought us here is a friend – or at least not a foe. Whoever cast that doe wanted to help us.

“Whoever left this here – the doe – they meant for us to find it,” she said quietly as she began examining the ice to check the thickness. “We’ll need to melt the ice to get to it.”

“Let’s cut a hole and see if we can summon it,” Harry nodded as they both stood quickly so Hermione could cut a hole directly above the sword.

The ice melted away easily as she traced a circle on it – but the sword did not come as she tried to summon it.

“Accio sword,” she whispered as she pointed her wand determinedly at the glinting handle. “Accio sword of Gryffindor – Accio – Accio Gryffindor sword.”

Harry frowned as he watched the red glinting rubies remain unmoving at the bottom of the dark pond.

“I think we have to go down there and get it,” he said slowly as he pinched the bridge of his nose briefly. “I remember Dumbledore mentioning that the sword presents itself in a time of need when a Gryffindor shows bravery – but why would the sword be summoned under a pond?”

“I’m not sure that it was summoned, Harry,” Hermione said as she turned to look at him. “The sword presents itself if you show bravery, yes – but we haven’t shown any bravery, we were led to it. Someone – or something – has placed this here. But I suppose that in order for us to take it – maybe we have to show bravery? Otherwise, maybe we cannot keep the sword. Maybe it would just disappear?”

“Well, either way we have to go get it,” Harry looked at her with a small frown. “I’ll go get it, you can stay up here with your wand and keep watch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry – I’m the better swimmer, I’ll go get the sword,” Hermione said as she stood quickly and began to unzip her jacket. 

She would go get the sword, not only because she was the stronger swimmer but also because Harry had already been through enough in Godric’s Hollow and frankly, he was more important in this war than she was. It was the reason why Dumbledore had included her and Ron on this mission in the first place. They were here to help and protect Harry – to keep him safe. Dumbledore never outright gave the order to Ron or Hermione, but Hermione wasn’t stupid. She had figured that out on her own and she knew the role that he had intended her to play in this war. She was meant to watch over Harry, keep him safe and ensure that he was successful in hunting Horcruxes. Besides, she knew that she would never be able to drag him out of the water without magic and based on the summoning charm not working she was concerned that this could be a real problem once the sword was in hand.

“Hermione, no,” Harry had grabbed her arms to stop her as she dropped her coat to the ice. “I’ll go – you don’t need to do this for me –“

“It’s not about doing it for you, Harry,” Hermione cut him off with a stern look. “You’ll be better above the ice. You’re a better dueller in case someone approaches, your shield will last a bit longer than mine, you’re physically stronger than I am – I wouldn’t be able to drag you out if something went wrong. What if I couldn’t summon you out once you had the sword? What if we have to get this completely without magic? I know I’m stronger now than before, but Harry, I can’t drag you out of freezing water. I need you up here to watch over me and to make sure that we’re both safe.”

Harry looked at her for a long moment before he closed his eyes tightly and exhaled deeply in frustration.

“Fine,” he bit out before he pulled her into a tight hug. “But be careful, please Hermione – I – I can’t do this without you.”

“I will,” Hermione squeezed him back tightly, his familiar scent calming her anxious nerves before she pulled back and looked into his eyes.

She reached her hand up and gently stroked the side of his face before placing a gentle, slow kiss to his lips. Harry gripped her upper arms tightly and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss for a moment before pushing her back and fixing her with an intense look.

“Be quick,” he said as his chest heaved.

“I will.”

Hermione took another step back and cast several warming charms on herself before removing her boots and jeans. She hissed at the cold as her feet touched the snow-covered ice and the freezing air struck her legs as she stood before the opening in the pond in only her panties, and her snug fitting long sleeved shirt. She cast two more warming charms before she passed her wand to Harry. Checking her internal timer, she noted that her shield charm would only last for another two minutes and with any luck she would be out of the pond by then. She briefly contemplated waiting and recasting it – but she decided against it in case Harry had to try to use magic to pull her out. She wasn’t sure how the shield would handle being hit with a summoning charm, and she made a mental note to experiment with that later. They both crouched by the edge of the opening and Hermione took several deep breaths to calm her racing heart.

“I’ll see you in a second,” she said with a small smile before taking a deep breath and slipping into the inky black water. When the water surrounded her two immediate thoughts popped into her head. First was, Holy fucking Merlin’s balls it’s cold! And the second was, Thank goodness that thing glows, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to see shit down here.

The cold-water bit angrily at her skin, making her heart stammer in her chest and her eyes whine in pain as she kept them open to be able to see. She dove forward and forced her aching legs to kick toward the sword and her trembling arms to pull her forwards. If she ever saw her parents again after this, she would need to thank them for insisting that she take swimming lessons and pushing her to continue until she was competent. She could see the faint glint of the light from her wand as Harry tried to shine it for her so she could see better. 

A small part of her lamented over not having her wand on her person – but they needed protection above the ice and frankly she did not trust bringing her wand down here. If she lost it, they would be completely and utterly screwed since it was their last remaining wand.

She was two feet from the sword and the water was agony. She kicked three more times and outstretched her hand, her fingers stretching as she reached for the hilt. It glinted in the faint wand light that Harry shone through the water. Her fingers brushed the sword and she managed to close her hand tightly around the hilt. She placed her feet on the rocky bottom and was about to push herself back toward the surface when she felt it – the tight tug around her neck as the chain from the locket constricted against her windpipe. 

FUCK – her free hand shot up to her neck, gripping at the chain, desperately trying to loosen its hold. She had completely forgotten that she was wearing it, the locket must have sensed the sword and now the cursed thing was going to strangle and drown her to death. She could feel the shield charm fighting against the pressure on her neck, but there was only a few seconds left on her timer.

She managed a small kick off the bottom of the pond, but the locket twisted tighter, and she struggled to kick her legs as the chain around her neck began to burn into her skin as her shield charm ran out. It twisted until it forced her to choke out the little remaining air that she had. It was wrapped so tightly now that she outright gagged and her vision started to blur. Black dots started to form at the corner of her eyes as her legs kicked lamely behind her. 

I’m going to die down here, she thought as her vision faded to black.

-x-x-

Harry knelt at the edge of the hole in the ice after Hermione had slipped into the water. He pointed the light from her wand down into the inky depths in an effort to help her see – with the bright shine from the sword he figured she would have a clear path since he wasn’t able to see any water weeds or other obstructions from the surface. Glancing up around them Harry quickly surveyed the forest around them – it was still deadly quiet, and the air was calm in the blackened woods. Looking back down in the water he saw Hermione’s slender body and perfect form – she was halfway to the sword already and she had closed the distance in a fraction of the time it would have taken him. 

She truly was the better swimmer. His hands gripped the edge of the ice as he watched her take the final few strokes toward the sword, hand outstretched to grab it. She was far enough down now that it was getting harder to see her, but he watched her overall movements the best he could and he felt his heart quicken and heard himself sigh audibly in relief when it looked like she had the sword.

He watched in anticipation, waiting for her to start rising to the surface. But the small grin that had been on his face when she had grabbed the sword started to fall when he realized that she wasn’t moving up and his heart caught in his chest. It looked like she was kicking wildly near the bottom.

“FUCK!” he shouted as dread began to fill his heart. “Accio Hermione – Accio sword!”

Nothing happened.

Hermione had been right – whoever set this up intended for them to obtain the sword without magic. Without a moment’s hesitation he ripped off his jacket and glasses and cast a strong warming charm before he dove headfirst into the pond. The water was frigid, and he felt his body seize as the ice-cold cut deeply into his skin. His muggle jeans were heavy as he kicked and swam desperately down toward Hermione. Her motions had slowed, her hand was on the locket chain that had wound tightly around her neck and the sword remained in the death grip of her right hand. He kicked furiously, his heart pounding, and his eyes stinging as his chest constricted so tightly he thought he might die on spot when he saw the final twitching jerk of her leg before her movements stopped completely.

He reached her body in two powerful kicks, tried to cast a bubble charm on her head and grabbed her firmly around the waist. Pushing off the bottom with as much force as he had he began kicking and pointed her wand up to the surface. He cast ascendio and felt a tug on his body as they blasted through the water. He wasn’t sure why this spell had worked while a summoning spell had not, but they rocketed upward, moving faster than a hippogriff in flight before they burst through the hole and landed hard on the ice.

Coughing, Harry quickly got to his knees and cast wordless warming charms as he rolled Hermione on to her back. She wasn’t moving, and her lips had begun to turn blue. The locket chain was still wound tightly around her neck, so he grabbed it to pull it loose and found it unyielding. He reached for the sword that was gripped tightly in her hand, pried it from her fingers and slid it away on the surface of the ice toward the collection of Hermione’s clothes and purse. With her body now free of the sword the locket chain fell limp against her neck. Harry cast two more warming charms on Hermione as he leaned down to check her pulse by hand and cast a quick diagnostic spell – but there wasn’t one. Not a single beat.

“Oh god no,” his voice broke as his stomach lurched with the threat of vomit. The finger that rested against her neck felt nothing but cold and the diagnostic confirmed that she was not breathing, and her heart had stopped.

Without a second’s hesitation he reflectively pointed her wand directly at her chest and cast the spell that Hermione had taught him for shocking and restarting hearts. It hit her hard in the center of her chest. He watched in awe as her back arched, her body tensed, and her bloodshot eyes snapped wide open as her face strangled into a pained expression before she inhaled deeply and began to cough violently. Water poured from her mouth as Harry gripped her tightly and rolled her to her side – pulling the Horcrux over her head and tossing it around his own neck.

“You’re okay – it’s okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you, fuck – Hermione, oh my god, I thought I’d lost you,” he couldn’t stop the ramble that poured from his mouth. 

He pulled her up from the cold ice to lean her against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her small frame, running his hands up and down her sides to warm her. He cast another warming charm around them as her coughing slowly began to subside. She was gripping his chest tightly, clinging to him for warmth as her breath came in ragged pulls. They sat there for several minutes before her breathing started to regulate and she pulled back to look at him.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she struggled to force out the words. “I forgot about the locket – I – I should have taken it off before. Thank you, thank you for coming to get me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he pulled her tightly to his chest again and kissed the top of her head over and over. “Do not be sorry, Hermione. Absolutely not, don’t be sorry – you’re so strong.  I’m so glad you’re alright – I – I thought I might lose you again.”

“Not today,” she choked out a small laugh against his chest before she sat back once more and placed a kiss on his jaw. Her breathing had calmed, her eyes were still bloodshot, her hair was a sopping mess, but she still was the most beautiful human that Harry had ever set eyes on. “Thank you, Harry – thank you for acting so quickly – but just so you know, holy shit that spell hurts. It’s fucking awful, but still – better than dying I guess.”

Harry smiled at her as his racing heart finally began to slow, he choked out a single laugh when she chuckled half-heartedly at her own joke before she smiled up at him.

“Let’s get you in dry clothes,” Harry said as he untangled himself from Hermione and she nodded.

He summoned her clothes from the pile by the sword then cast a few warming charms on them before he began to try and dry her off. Hermione stood shakily with Harry’s help and slipped on her clothes as Harry cast a drying charm on her hair then a few more on himself before slipping his jackets back on. 

He ended up helping Hermione with the zipper on her jacket as her hands were shaking too much from the cold and exhaustion that now plagued her body. Once they were bundled up, Harry took her hand and walked towards the sword of Gryffindor that shone brightly on the surface of the ice. As they approached, Hermione quickly dropped Harry’s hand and picked up the sword in both of her own, ensuring that she stopped a few feet back from Harry.

“Let’s not repeat that again,” she said sagely as she eyed the locket that Harry now wore. “They can obviously sense objects that threaten them – and they clearly have the capacity to fight back.”

“No kidding,” Harry said with a grimace, noting how hoarse her voice sounded. “Let’s get this thing over and done with, and then get out of here.”

With that they both walked slowly off the ice and toward a small rock at the side of the pond. Harry stopped before it, removed the Horcrux from his neck and placed it on the rock. Then he turned to Hermione.

“I’m sorry, what?” Hermione asked in disbelief as she stared at Harry with wide eyes. The sword was heavy in her shaking arms and her chest felt as if someone had split it open like a watermelon. Her eyes hurt, her body ached from oxygen deprivation, her head was pounding, and she was still cold from being in an ice pond.

“I want you to destroy it,” Harry repeated as he looked at her intently. His face was earnest if not slightly pleading. “I think you should do it, not only because it just tried to kill you but also because I think it’s important that you do it. You got the sword out of the pond – it needs to be you; I know it does.”

He truly does think I should do it, Hermione thought as she took a breath and winced at the pain coursing through her body.

She’d just been hit with the equivalent to a muggle defibrillator across the chest and the lingering pain was awful, especially when she breathed too deeply. Which was difficult not to do since she was so bloody exhausted. The tingling sensation in her arms and fingers was distracting and somewhat excruciating – a lingering side effect doubled in intensity by her time spent exposed under ice water. She suspected the sensation would linger for a day, possibly two, until her body healed from having her heart restarted magically but she tried to ignore it when she gripped the hilt of the sword more tightly.

“Harry,” she said slowly as she twisted the sword around between her hands. “I don’t know if I can – I – I’m so exhausted, Harry. I’m not sure that I have it in me.”

While her words were true and reason enough not to destroy the locket, she neglected to bring up the fact that she did not want to – that the idea of killing a Horcrux made her stomach roll over with nausea while her heart pounded. After seeing the effects that the locket had on people while they wore it, she did not want to think about what it would do if she tried to kill it. It had nearly strangled her to death only moments ago when she made contact with a weapon capable of banishing it, so she was terrified of what might happen if she actually tried to hit the locket with it.

“You can do it,” Harry smiled gently before he dug into her purse that he’d still been holding and summoned out a small bottle of calming draught and pepperup potion. “Take these first, they’ll help – but you should do this, Hermione. I know you're exhausted, I know you just want to go to bed – and you bloody well deserve to – I just – I can’t explain it, I just know it needs to be you.”

Hermione accepted the two bottles from Harry and drained each of them slowly. The warmth from the pepperup potion hit her quickly and her eyes fluttered closed as she felt the tension in her chest start to dissipate. Harry knew that she was exhausted, so if he was pushing for her to do this then she knew it was both important to him and required. Harry had always seemed to have some sort of connection to Voldemort and the Horcruxes, so she tended to trust his judgement on them when he made a request. 

She felt the warmth from the pepperup potion flow down to her toes and she allowed her shoulders to drop as the calming draught started to take effect. Harry wouldn’t ask me to do this unless he felt that I had to, she thought and she relaxed her tense back muscles. She took a deep breath and then forced her eyes open.

“Alright fine,” she said quietly, now beginning to feel the effects of the calming draught on her nerves. “Let’s get this done and get out of here.”

Harry nodded firmly before turning back to face the locket and preparing to open it. Hermione instinctively raised the sword up to waist height, preparing herself to strike the object. She bit down the pain in her shoulders and chest, trying to steady her hands as they trembled under the weight of the blade. If not for the calming draught, her heart would be pounding right now. Hermione was no doctor, but she knew that allowing her heart to race out of control after it had only just been restarted was definitely not medically recommended. 

In fact, it would probably be frowned upon, she thought as she held her stance.

“Make sure to stab it quickly,” Harry said as his hands held the locket poised to open and he looked over his shoulder at her. His jaw was tight with concern and she knew that he was nervous for her. “Whatever is in here will attack – the Tom Riddle in the diary tried to kill me in the Chamber of Secrets, and this thing has already gone after you once – so don’t hesitate. Are you ready?”

Hermione nodded once firmly. The quiet of the forest was ringing in her ears and making her hands tremble further. She felt light-headed and sore but she forced her bloodshot eyes to focus on the golden locket in Harry's hands. Her heart, while still controlled, began to beat more quickly in her chest as she heard Harry speaking in parseltongue – then the locket popped open with a click to reveal a handsome eye. It must have been Tom Riddle’s from before it turned red and haunted. 

Hermione raised the sword to strike, taking a step forward to close the distance so she could drop it down in one clean strike – but she froze as black grotesque bubbles started to pour from the locket and a terrifying voice echoed around them and shook her to her very soul. A shiver ran down her spine, and terror hit her core as she heard the words the locket spoke echoing through the cold air.

I have seen your dreams, Hermione Granger, it hissed and she felt the urge to vomit. And I have seen your fears. All you desire will not come to pass – what you dread will be your truth. A mudblood, so desperate to belong – discarded by her own disgusting muggle-kind yet unwelcomed by the magical. You don’t belong anywhere. 

An abomination! 

So desperate to prove herself, to show her worth. Pathetic! So eager to prove that you deserve your magic. But you don’t – and you know that you don’t. You’ve failed, just like how you were always going to fail!

The disgusting black bubbles poured out more quickly and began to take shape, Hermione’s eyes widened with fear as she saw the twisted and disturbing figures of her parents standing before her.

Your parents are lost, the voice was cruel and cutting. She could feel it beneath her skin, rippling in her chest and creeping up the base of her neck. You weren’t able to save them – I’ve taken them.

YOU’VE FAILED!

The voice cackled in madness, echoing around the forest, surrounding her, suffocating her as she heard the desperate voices of her parents’ pleas for help. Her heart filled with dread as she saw her parents’ anguished expressions of pain and hatred.

How could you leave us Hermione! You left us! You betrayed our trust, you failed us! 

The voices continued and became intermingled with screams of terror as more voices joined in. She heard Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore, Ginny and countless others as they bore into her mind asking her why she had failed, telling her that she had betrayed their trust as they called her mudblood. They told her that she didn’t belong – that she never had and that she did not deserve her magic. They screamed that she wasn’t worthy and that she never had been. 

She could feel her mind being consumed. 

Her breath came in quick short rasps as her heart thudded at an alarming rate. She was overwhelmed with doubt and her worst fears – her vision blurred as the disgusting black goo morphed into Harry. He was on his knees, gasping for breath as the voices continued to chant behind her – calling out her every flaw. It screamed her every mistake and played to every insecurity she had buried deep within herself. Then, there was a gaping hole in Harry’s chest and his eyes were glassy as they stared up at her in desperation. 

Hermione, the form of Harry choked out as the figure clutched the bloody gaping hole at its chest. You’ve failed, you’ve failed, you’ve failed me. 

Her blood ran cold as her chest constricted in agony and her heart raced further. Her mind was lost to the chanting that surrounded the forest, the edges of her vision faded as she watched Harry die before her over and over again. She had failed him, and he had died because of her.

Hermione gasped for breath. It felt like her chest was going to explode in agony. She couldn’t take this anymore, she couldn’t watch, she couldn’t listen, she couldn't move – then a warm, strong and desperate voice filled her ears, cutting through the death and coldness of the locket that had surrounded her.

“HERMIONE! KILL IT!” Harry screamed. The real Harry, not the disgusting and disfigured form before her. “KILL IT NOW! YOU CAN DO THIS!”

His voice seemed to clear her mind and Hermione clenched her jaw as her hands tightened around the hilt of the sword. She forced herself to focus on the real Harry’s voice which continued to call to her and she forced the repulsive chanting of the bodiless voices echoing from the locket out of her head. She ripped her eyes from the locket to look at Harry who was half laying on the ground fighting to hold the locket steady as the black goo poured out of it, he was looking up at her determinedly. He was very much alive. He was fierce, bright, strong and looking at her with so much emotion it made her soul ache and her mouth open as she forced air into her unbreathing lungs in a deep and painful cry.

She rounded on the locket, her hair wild as it blew in the wind that had picked up around them. Her bloodshot eyes burned as she stared down at the disgusting trinket and her heart thudded as her nerves turned to stone.

“You won’t win!” she snarled at the locket with raw, unrestrained rage. She forced her legs to move the last step toward it. It felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each as she slid them forward across the ice and fought against the sheer force of the locket. “It’s over! You can’t defeat us–“

She felt a strong push against her body by some unseen force as the chanting voices grew louder and the words ‘Dirty USELESS Mudblood’ began to scream in her ears. She gritted her teeth and raised the sword.

“FUCK YOU!” she screamed as she swung the sword up violently and then brought it crashing down in one hard motion that used every fiber of her being.

The sword cut through the black goo figures and made contact with the locket. She felt a ripple in the air as the voices were silenced and a bright red flash cut across her vision as a loud crack erupted. Hermione fell back as a wave of energy dispelled from the locket, the sword was still gripped tightly in her hands as she slid several feet back on the ice. 

When she finally stopped sliding she raised herself up on her elbows to look at the locket – it was cracked, motionless and split into three pieces. Harry had jumped out of the way of her swing and was laying in the snow to the right of the rock and eyeing the locket as nervously as she was. Then he looked over to her and their eyes locked. Harry pulled himself to his feet so quickly she almost didn’t see the motions. He ran across the ice, his feet slipping and sliding until he reached her and fell to his knees beside her – grabbing her arms to pull her up into a sitting position and clutching her to his chest.

“Hermione,” he breathed, his face buried into her wild and curly hair as he clutched her tightly. “Hermione you were incredible – incredible – are you okay?” 

He pulled away from her and began running his hands over her body looking for injury and tracing the lines of her face.

“Yes,” she said somewhat weakly as she dropped the sword and grabbed both sides of face. “Harry, I’m okay.”

Harry was looking at her so intensely it made her poor weak heart flutter. She leaned into him when he bent his head to kiss her fiercely. They sat on the cold ice, Harry’s hand tangled in her hair and his arm wrapped tightly around her as his lips traced over hers desperately – like he was afraid if he stopped, she would disappear. Finally, they parted, and she leaned her forehead against his gently, chest heaving as she breathed in the cold air.

“Let’s get out of here, Harry. Please?” she asked as she shivered against him. She wanted to bury the remains of that cursed locket somewhere deep within her purse until they were able to truly dispose of it. But mostly, she wanted to go somewhere safe, to crawl back into Harry’s bunk and be wrapped in his warm arms and held tightly against his chest. She could feel her body beginning to fail her as the adrenaline started to leave her system. There wasn’t enough calming draught in the world to stop the gentle twitch of her arm or the ragged breathing that escaped her lungs. She needed to rest before she passed out.

“Absolutely,” Harry whispered in her hair.

Harry stood quickly and gathered the remains of the locket and picked up the sword, storing them both efficiently in her purse before he came to kneel beside her once again. Hermione had remained sitting rather limply on the ice while she watched Harry collect everything up. A small part of her thought about helping, she felt guilty that she remained sprawled on the ground while Harry gathered everything up – but her exhausted body was simply not letting her do anything else. She wasn’t sure that she would be able to stand on her own at this point, so, she remained in her dishevelled state until Harry returned. 

“I knew you could do it,” Harry said softly as he grabbed her hand tightly and wrapped his arm firmly around her waist. 

Hermione smiled against him, closing her eyes as exhaustion overtook her. She sighed in relief when she felt the familiar tug behind her navel from his apparition and she knew that they were safe. They had the sword, they had destroyed a Horcrux, and she had Harry. 

We’ll be okay, she thought as the world distorted around them.

-x-x-

They landed near the south of England, along the western shoreline. Harry cast several detection spells to ensure that they were safe before he left Hermione sitting in the snow, gave her their jar of blue flames to hold and proceeded to set up the tent. Once the tent was erected, Harry helped Hermione inside. She winced as all the muscles in her body screamed at her movement and she knew that she would not be attempting any exercise the following day. She was going to sleep in and she was going to take it easy.

Harry left Hermione to shower, knowing that the warm water would help to ease her strained muscles and warm her up. Then he left the tent to go set the alarms, detections and wards.

Hermione groaned in pleasure and pain as the hot water sprayed at her back. It felt like a thousand little needles poking at her freezing skin, but she could feel her muscles loosening up from the heat. She dropped her head against the shower wall and shivered when the last remains of cold, which had been settled deep within her bones, finally left her body. She forced her arms to move, washing over her skin and detangling the mess of hair that hung from her head. 

Her movements were slow, and her eyes remained heavily hooded. Once she was thoroughly clean and warm, she wandlessly turned off the shower and put on the thickest fuzziest socks she had, a warm long-sleeved sweater and plaid pajama pants. Harry was still out setting wards as she climbed into his bunk and she knew that he was probably setting extras tonight, as he was likely planning to come to bed too as they both desperately needed the rest.

She had just rolled onto her back and pulled up the covers when Harry walked through the door. She turned her head to look at him, his hair was dishevelled from the wind and his cheeks tinted pink from the cold. He immediately walked over to her, kissing her head quickly before murmuring softly that he was going to go take a shower to warm up. 

She tried to stay awake for him – to wait for him to come join her in bed so they could curl into each other’s arms. But the ache across her chest was heavy and her limbs felt like they had been weighted down with lead. Her eyes wouldn’t allow her to stay awake any longer and she dozed off listening to the calming sound of water flowing. She stirred slightly when she felt the bed move beside her and she registered the feeling of Harry's strong arm wrapping across her chest as he rolled on his side to curl against her body. His fresh clean scent enveloped her thoughts and then she drifted off completely.

-x-x-

True to her word, Hermione slept in the next day and so did Harry. Neither one of them were able to pull themselves from bed until well after 10:30 am, which was late considering their usual 7 am wake up time. Thankfully, Hermione didn’t have any dreams or nightmares about being trapped underwater or being strangled to death, though she knew that was likely only due to the calming draught that Harry had given her. The nightmares would come later… and she wasn’t looking forward to it.

When she did wake, she laid quietly in Harry’s arms, enjoying the calm and warmth until her stomach growled. Then she forced herself to slip from bed and make them both breakfast. Harry woke a few minutes later to the smell of toast and eggs, and he groggily came to join her at the table after throwing on the kettle for tea.

They both agreed to take the day off from training and spend the day relaxing. In Harry’s words: ‘sometimes, you need to stop and celebrate the things you’ve accomplished – to allow yourself a moment to enjoy your victory, no matter how small’. And they had just had a victory.

For the first time in months they now had a weapon capable of destroying Horcruxes, which made the task of locating them somehow seem less daunting. Having the sword in their possession was reassuring and it made her feel like the last few months weren’t a total waste of time.

At lunchtime, they broke out the last cakes that Hermione had in her purse and ate them with tea. They packaged the remains of the Horcrux into a small box to store deep within the depths of Hermione’s purse with plans to properly dispose of the pieces later, and then they grinned in triumph at each other when they unceremoniously lowered the box to the bottom of her bag. The remainder of the day was spent examining the sword of Gryffindor, lounging around the tent, napping, and reading while curled up next to each other on the loveseat. Harry let his arm drape lazily over Hermione’s shoulders while she leaned back into his chest, they both covered up with a blanket to keep warm and she continued her reading on potions brewing in unconventional locations. 

It was the most comfortable and relaxing day that they had had since… well, since before Dumbledore died.

During dinner, Hermione and Harry discussed going to visit Xenophilius Lovegood to ask him about the necklace he wore to the wedding to see if he knew anything about it being Grindelwald’s symbol. They both agreed that they would need to go as it was the only logical next step to the puzzle that Dumbledore had left for them – the only question on the table was, when to go. They were both extremely hesitant to leave any time soon. If the last few months had taught them anything it was that despite being prepared, they never seemed to be prepared enough. No matter how strong they became or how much they seemed to grow, somehow life just kept demanding more from them, and it always asked them to complete things that were just out of their reach. There had simply been far too many close calls to allow themselves to jump into anything else without first trying to be more prepared. 

Especially now¸ Hermione thought, as she watched Harry clean up the table and bring the dishes to the kitchen. She watched his lean shoulders move as he cleaned the plates and stacked them back in the cupboards. She wasn’t able to stop a small blush from forming on her cheeks as she watched his strong body move about with ease. 

She had only just managed to come to terms with her feelings for Harry and to allow herself to admit that she cared for him. She was not willing to put him at risk or threaten the new relationship that they had just started but being reckless or stupid. They had to become more. This war was dangerous, violent, and would take everything from them if they didn’t take it seriously. They needed to double down on their efforts and be prepared so anything.

After dinner, Hermione reviewed her potion supplies and found that they were low. They needed more blood replenisher, more salve, more dittany, more calming draught, more pepperup and more of just about every single thing she had prepared and collected for their journey. And they needed to get their hands on some antivenom for Nagini. Given what had happened in Godric’s Hollow, they needed to be ready in case they ran into her again. That snake would kill them both if it had the chance and they wouldn’t last more than a few minutes without the antivenom if they were bitten. 

Hermione remembered what had happened to Mr. Weasley when he was bitten in the Department of Mysteries – his wounds wouldn’t close by magic or by stitches until the venom was disabled. The dittany they had poured over the bites might as well have been water as it did absolutely nothing to help, and the stitches they attempted to use to close the wound dissolved almost instantly. As a result, he kept bleeding out and required blood replenishing potion every hour until they had discovered the antivenom. 

Mr. Weasley had been at St. Mungo’s at the time though, and so they had resources, materials, potions and ample blood replenishers to treat him and keep him alive. But those were things that they didn’t have while in the middle of nowhere hunting Horcruxes. She would never be able to brew enough blood replenisher or afford to buy enough to keep them alive if they got bit. 

They needed the antivenom, there was no other way around it.

During their evening tea Hermione gave Harry a rundown on their potion situation and he agreed with her recommendation that they should not knowingly approach the Lovegood’s or anyone else for that matter until their potion and healing supplies had been properly restocked. With that settled, Hermione revised their daily schedule to include potion brewing and ingredients harvesting – which in and of itself would be a dangerous feat. Some materials they would be able to gather on their own from forests and various locations around England, while others would need to be purchased from an apothecary or stolen – and Hermione frowned at the thought.

It was after their discussion on potions and towards the end of their evening tea that Harry decided to bring up occlumency once more. He felt awkward bringing it up, because of all the self-shame and regret that he had attached to the subject – but he forced himself to do it anyway. He knew Hermione would understand, he knew that she was probably worried about it too and he knew that he would never get better unless he dealt with the issue directly. 

She didn’t lecture him when he finally told her what had truly happened in fifth year with Snape, the memories that he had seen and why his lessons had come to a screeching halt. She didn’t get angry with him when he admitted that he had blown off the self-practice and homework that Snape had assigned him or that he hadn’t taken it seriously enough at the time. Instead, she held his hand, squeezed it tight and agreed that they would add even more practice to their already adjusted routine.

Over the next week, Hermione and Harry set their plan into motion. Each day they got up with purpose, completed their exercises, duelled, practiced casting wandless and wordless spells, gathered nearby potion ingredients, studied healing spells, and meditated and practiced occlumency at every spare chance they got. He found himself doing it in the shower or practicing it while he cooked, and he got in the habit of quieting his mind and emotions as he sat outside in the cold during his night watches.

Outside of their joint routine tasks, Harry took the lead on researching and experimenting with ways to make their shield charm more resistant to physical blows while Hermione took the lead on replacing their potion stock, preparing for brewing and managing their supplies. She made a list of all the potion ingredients they would need, brewing durations so they could time their movements with the completion of potions, and she began setting up a brewing station inside the tent.  

It took Hermione two days to finish reading her book on brewing potions in unorthodox places, learn the spells required to seal the work area and drawing up plans for how to set-up the station within the tent such that each item wouldn’t need to be packed away individually when they moved. She was able to figure out how to charm the cauldrons and workbench area with a sticking charm and encase the entire space in an explosion proof shield that would prevent any mishaps from spreading through the tent. By cutting a small hole in the fabric within the new potion lab she was also able to vent the workspace to remove any scents or fumes from the potions.

Then, by using a stasis spell listed in the book, she determined that she should be able to freeze any brewing potions in place if they needed to pack up quickly. She had no intention of ever packing up the tent while something was brewing but it was good to know that she could do it if she had to do it – and that she could do it without burning down everything inside the tent. Harry also seemed to be pleased with this knowledge when she presented her plans to him to get his input. It was comforting to know that they wouldn’t be waking up in a burning tent because cauldrons simmering through the night had caught the tent on fire.

Once they had both agreed on the plans she spent the remainder of the week setting up the potion station. 

She transfigured Ron’s bunk into a workbench and one of the kitchen chairs into a stool. Neither Hermione nor Harry talked about the fact that she had just, for all intents and purposes, removed Ron’s bed and therefore his place from the tent. And while it remained unspoken, they both knew that neither one of them was expecting him to return. So, they decided to ignore the implications of ‘cutting’ him from the tent and how it physically represented them cutting him from their lives. Instead, they both just continued with their practicing and research, focusing on their task. 

By the end of the week, Hermione had the workbench and cauldrons set-up, the vent stack working and all the protective charms in place. Her comprehensive list of the potion ingredients that they had and the ones that they still needed was now cross-referenced with their map of England and she had identified the locations they needed to go to get everything.

With only the small amount of dittany that she had left stored in her supplies, she would only be able to make two small batches of blood replenishing potion and one small batch of essence of dittany for wound use. Normally, this would be a decent amount for her personal usage, but given how the last few months had gone she was nervous that it wouldn’t be enough if things were to escalate into a full-fledged war. She wanted to have at least a dozen blood replenishing potions, three bottles of dittany and several more bottles of calming draught and pepperup potion – so they needed to find a way to get their hands on more dittany, somehow. 

The problem was that dittany was both rare and expensive, and she highly doubted that they would stumble upon it randomly in a forest somewhere. So this meant that they needed to go to an apothecary to purchase some. Otherwise, most of the other ingredients she needed could be collected free of charge by apparating around the countryside.

In the meantime, while they gathered ingredients, Hermione planned to brew what she could. Thankfully, Hermione had packed the crocodile hearts that she had purchased on sale in Diagon Alley in her potion kit. At the time, Harry and Ron had stared at her like she was crazy for getting excited and bounding into the apothecary which was selling the hearts. Her exact words at the time had been, ‘can you believe this guys! Look at these ridiculously cheap prices!’

She had never intended to brew during their hunt, but now thanks to her constant need to be prepared she would be able to make several new batches of calming draught to keep on hand. She was also able to start a single new batch of pepperup potion. The item that was left completely blank on her list was Nagini’s antivenom – for which she had no idea where to start.

Despite her vast knowledge on potions for someone her age and her extensive efforts researching, Hermione felt incredibly under-informed and completely out of her comfort zone when it came to antivenoms. They were usually rare and complex, so most potions masters stayed away from them. Some antivenoms didn’t even require a potion – some were just a single herb or a combination of plants that occurred naturally that you could pick from the ground and use immediately. Others were bizarrely complicated potions that required a sample of the venom and a sample of the victim’s blood to create the neutralizer. Then there were others that had to be prepared in advance while a few had to be prepared after the victim was bleeding. There were documented cases of antivenoms being as simple as a dandelion leaf, while others ranged to potions that took 3 months to prepare and had a shelf life of only 24 hours.

What made matters worse, was that Nagini was not a normal snake that was being controlled by Voldemort. So, it wasn’t like Hermione could just bust into a muggle hospital and get the antivenom for Vipera Berus or a Copperhead for Merlin’s sake. Nagini was clearly a magical creature of some sort. And while Hermione could not confirm it, she had her suspicions that Nagini was either a cursed Russell’s Viper based on her appearance or, the more likely option, she was a Maledictus – someone permanently turned into a beast due to a blood curse. She doubted anyone would know for certain, save for Voldemort himself, and she wasn’t about to try and ask or figure that one out.

The only thing that kept her panic and anxiety at bay was knowing that Mr. Weasley had beaten the venom before. He had found the antivenom, used it and was alive and well – proving that the cure worked. The only thing she needed to do was either break into St. Mungo’s and see if they had any antivenom on hand that they could borrow, or she needed to find Arthur Weasley and speak with him to get the antivenom recipe. Either way, the process would be risky. It was possible that St. Mungo’s was being watched by Voldemort or that it was already being run by him. While locating Mr. Weasley would be relatively easier than breaking into St. Mungo’s, it would put the man and his family and possibly even the remaining members of the Order at risk. 

Based on the updates that they were getting from Phineas, which were few and far between, it was clear that whatever was left of the Order of the Phoenix was being kept top secret and that the members were operating in the shadows. They were trying to fight the war quietly without drawing attention to themselves because they simply didn’t have the numbers to compete with Voldemort directly. At this point, the Ministry was all but taken over and their secrecy would be critical to their overall success. If they pushed too much too soon or did anything too dramatic, Voldemort and his followers would bring the war to their doorstep before the Order was ready for it – and since no one else knew about the Horcruxes, the results would be devastating. 

Voldemort couldn’t be killed, not until the Horcruxes were gone. So, she and Harry needed to keep the war at bay for as long as possible to avoid unnecessary loss of life while they tried to locate and destroy the final remaining Horcruxes.

Hermione worked hard over the next few weeks, training with Harry and brewing the potions that she could with the ingredients that she had on hand and with what they could collect from their apparating trips around the countryside. Each time a potion was completed she felt a tiny thread of her anxiety fall away and a small comfort surge in her chest. Having these potions was like having a lifeline and she would create as many lifelines as she could because she would not let them fail.

If she had to brew all night, creep into the deepest and darkest crevices of the forest to get an ingredient they needed or wrestle a salamander out of a skunk’s mouth, as she had in Surrey – she would. She would push herself to the edge if that’s what it took to ensure that Harry was safe and that their mission was a success. Skunk smell or no, Hermione was on a mission and she would not let anything stop her.

So, as she brewed and collected ingredients she thought, and as she thought, she planned. There was no doubt in her mind that going to St. Mungo’s was out of the question. It was simply too dangerous, and they had no connections there to help them get into the secure facility. One high profile break-in was enough for her lifetime – they didn’t need to add a second. While their adventure at the Ministry had been successful, it had also gone somewhat poorly and cost them time, energy, resources and Ron. She also had no doubt in her mind that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were being watched closely so they couldn’t just apparate to the Burrow. She refused to put them in danger no matter how irritated she may have been with their idiot son. 

She still loved Molly and Arthur dearly – and she did not want to hurt them.

Thus, there was only one solution. They needed to come up with a plan to get in contact with Mr. Weasley privately, without it being noticed by anyone – not even Molly. They also needed a way for him to be able to communicate back to them so he could give them the antivenom recipe, but it needed to be discrete. Going to the Ministry to see him would be suicide, going to the Burrow would be dangerous for the family, owls were too obvious and were being monitored, the Floo network was out of the question and a Patronus could be intercepted or dispelled. They either needed to intercept him somewhere or find another way to contact him, and it had been the topic of discussion over the last few evenings without much progression.

That night, the air was quiet. She stirred the cauldron of the last batch of blood replenishing potion she was able to make until she got more dittany. Harry was outside completing some additional wandless magic practice, trying to use up the last few moments of sunlight that they had left before the early darkness of winter set in. She knew that he would make dinner while she finished up the potion, he always made dinner when she was brewing. 

Hermione looked down at the workbench as her hand turned the stir stick by muscle memory, allowing her mind to run blank as she practiced her occlumency and her eyes skimmed over the different tools and remaining chopped bits that were covering the surface. Her eyes slowed when they skimmed over her research notebook which was filled with jotted notes, diagrams and plans, and they halted completely when they noticed the small round silver ink cap that rested on the open page.

Her eyes widened and her heart leapt as the idea hit her. 

Of course! Hermione thought as she quickly finished stirring the potion while her mind raced a mile a minute to formulate her new plan. The answer is obvious! I can't believe that I didn’t think of it right away. 

She grinned to herself, wandlessly and wordlessly summoning two clean bottles and stoppers from her purse. She began to pour the potion into the bottles, using her magic to steady the flow and conserve each drop of the replenishing potion for future use. She glanced at the tent door as the wind outside picked up and the tent around her fluttered. She couldn’t stop the smile on her lips from growing wider as Harry walked into the tent covered in snow but grinning widely at her. It looked like he’d had a good night as well. She beamed at him, calling him over to their new potion lab, excited to tell Harry exactly how they were going to communicate with Mr. Weasley.

Warnings:

This chapter contains: explicit smut (which can be skipped without missing out on main plot)

*******************************************

Harry stood firm in front of his newest unsuspecting victim, a strong weathered oak branch that he had found on the forest floor about twenty-five feet away from the tent. It stretched an impressive four feet long and was a hefty ten inches in diameter – a prime target for his practice. The tall looming trees around him rustled as he stared the branch down through squinted eyes, feet planted wide in a defensive position, knees slightly bent in anticipation of a counter-attack.

Then, taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind. He used the occlumency skills he had developed from hours and hours of meditation practice. He had learned how to empty his head and so he focused his attention on the spell that he was about to cast at his new opponent.

He had mastered casting diffindo wordlessly and wandlessly a week ago and had started working on his sectumsempra – hoping to be able to add it to his ever-growing arsenal. Hermione was already able to make large gashes wordlessly and wandlessly, but she had always been better at wandless and wordless magic. Her concentration, focus, attention to detail, and ability to control her mind made her a formidable witch who learned quicker than anyone. Harry, who had more raw power, had only been able to manage small scratches so far – but he was determined to change that today.

Letting out his breath, Harry let the last thoughts that had been lingering in his mind float away, and he dropped his shoulders in relaxation as he closed his eyes lightly. This was the missing piece of the puzzle, the one that he had been without during all his previous endeavours to learn wandless and wordless magic. And it was something that would have helped him infinitely during his occlumency training with Snape in the past – the feeling of peace and ease within one’s own mind. He had never had it, and learning how to be comfortable within the emptiness, let alone creating the emptiness, was difficult.

When they first started seriously training occlumency, Hermione had located and pulled out an old and battered book from her purse of wonders. It discussed learning occlumency from a different perspective – a perspective that turned out to be very similar to the meditation that Hermione had been practicing for years. Hermione had explained that she found the book on the dusty back shelves of the second-hand bookstore in Diagon Alley and picked it up for ‘light bedtime reading’ after she learned about occlumency in fifth year. Apparently, the book had not been overly popular when it was originally printed – not only because occlumency was difficult to start with and many witches and wizards struggled to become skilled in its practice – but also because its take on occlumency was unorthodox. So, there were hardly any volumes available and Hermione had been rather pleased when she located the book on that hot summer day.

While the book agreed that the main point of occlumency was indeed to be on the defensive and protect your mind from intruders, it advocated that this could be accomplished through obtaining peace and ease within your own mind and thus ‘gaining true control of one’s self and emotions’ instead of only taking a fighting and aggressive approach that most other books seemed to promote. Typically, occlumency was joined at the hip with teaching people to compartmentalize their emotions, put up walls, and protect and block intruders from gaining access to their minds. While this book did cover the importance of creating shields and barriers within your mind – as these are indeed important aspects of occlumency which are required – it also maintained the opinion that mediation practice could afford you inherent protection. That if you could reach a point of peace where you ‘let go of yourself, your worldly views and attachments’, you would be able to truly empty your head, void yourself of accessing any memories or information, and thus, make it more difficult for other people to access your mind. By combining this approach with standard compartmentalizing techniques and barriers, one would be more effective at occlumency because they were truly detached from themselves and not just hiding the information in their brain.

Or so the book said.

While neither Harry nor Hermione had any true experience with occlumency to test the theory of the book, and they didn’t have a teacher that they could discuss the books’ approach with to see if it was legitimate – they could not deny that the meditation and detachment exercises were helping them profoundly in every other area of their training. So, they both agreed to continue with the approach regardless of whether or not it actually helped them with occlumency.

Since neither one of them was a practiced legilimens, they did not dare try to breach each other’s minds to test their progress. Legilimency was dangerous if done poorly or incorrectly – minds are a careful and fragile thing, and they were both smart enough to know that you don’t go rooting around in someone’s brain unless you know what you’re doing. There were countless documented cases of Legilimency gone wrong – incident of it used by untrained or uncaring people that resulted in their victims losing memories, going insane or suffering from ongoing headaches and spotted vision for the rest of their lives.

So, they practiced the techniques together every day but never tested it.

For a brief moment, Harry felt light and detached from his body, almost as if in a trance. His mind felt crystal clear, like he was standing on the top of a glass lake – so clear that the sky was reflected in the water, and you couldn’t tell where the lake ended and the sky began.  There was nothing but thick fluffy clouds floating above and below him with no end in sight. And once her felt his shoulders relax, he opened his eyes quickly and cast the spell. He didn’t yell the word in his head, instead just thinking it with a clear, calm, direct and firm intent. With a loud crack, the thick oak branch broke into three uneven pieces before him.

"YES!" Harry yelled as his head fell back, and he dropped to his knees in the snow. “Fuck yes! Finally!”

A huge grin split across his face. After a month of relentless, challenging, and draining practice where they had made decent progress – this was always out of his grasp, until now. Harry could feel the triumph and warmth flow through his body as he dropped his eyes back onto the now broken branch.

I did that, he thought as he continued to grin at the broken pieces before he tugged himself back up to his feet. God this feels good; this has made all that practice worth it.

The wind picked up around him as he brushed the snow from his knees. It ruffled his long black hair and cooled the back of his exposed neck. He had thought to ask Hermione to cut it again as it had grown almost past his shoulders. His hair had always grown quickly, and sometimes it felt like it had a mind of its own – as it had recently noticed that no one was paying attention to it, so it decided to grow even quicker and more dishevelled than usual – taking its new-found freedom to heart somewhat like a teenager being set on the loose for the first time and becoming uncontrolled. Harry snorted at the thought, it wouldn’t surprise him if he woke up tomorrow and it had grown another inch or two. But if he was being honest, he just didn’t care. It was warmer with longer hair and it was at the bottom of his priority list at the moment, so he had forgotten to bother with it.

Though, if he let it get much longer, he would need to put it in a ponytail to keep it out of his face. Harry laughed outwardly at that. Between him and Hermione, there was a ridiculous amount of hair in the tent and some nights sleeping next to Hermione felt like having two rather large messy birds’ nests on his pillow.

Harry turned toward the tent with his mind now on Hermione, which only caused him to smile again. Things between them over the last month had been great. They were a wonderful team, and they had been working and training well together. Hermione had made progress with her examination of the golden bracelets and had successfully brewed several potions. Harry had helped with some ingredient prep and brewing, but he mostly spent his solo time working on the shield charm.

It had been going really well, and yesterday he thought he finally found a way to make the shield resistant to physical blows, but it seemed like it would reduce their shield time dramatically. He only practiced it once, and he still needed Hermione to test his theory – since it was impossible to actually test the shield against physical blows himself while he was in the shield. He hoped that they could do that tomorrow, except he needed a better testing mechanism than having Hermione throw a rock at him. They needed to try and recreate a bite force comparable to Nagini or a werewolf as they were the most likely physical blows that they would sustain in battle.

He had a few ideas he planned to run by her.

Running a hand through his messy locks, Harry walked toward the tent. Dinner tonight would probably be some veggies and a pot pie because, for some reason, he seemed far better at making pot pies than any other food. Harry brushed the last bit of snow off his pants before he ducked into the tent and looked over to Hermione’s workstation – or the lab as they now called it – where she was currently looking over her shoulder at him with a huge grin.

Her hair was a mess.

It had obviously been in a ponytail at some point, but now long curly tendrils leaked down her back and stuck out at odd angles. There was a sheen of sweat across her forehead from working in the small, shielded potion lab – it always got way too warm in there with the cauldrons going – and she had evidently decided it was too hot for formalities as well, because she had stripped down to a loose-fitting dark blue tank top that flowed gently along her curves. The oversized armholes showed the sides of her black bra, and her top-most scar peeked out of the neckline. He suspected that this must be one of her exercise shirts – perhaps even a transfigured tank as it was not something she would typically wear out in public, but Harry had no complaints. Between the tank top, the warm flush on her face and her rather tight-fitting black shorts, he couldn’t stop his brain from wandering.

"Merlin, you’re beautiful," the words fell from his lips before he could stop them.

She had been opening her mouth to say something – judging by the grin on her face when he entered the tent, she’d had a productive day and was planning to share some good news. But at his words, she faltered and left her mouth hanging open as the blush on her cheeks deepened. She glanced down at her outfit, and the pink blush crept down her neck as she seemed to realize what she was wearing. While Hermione had stood somewhat flustered, Harry had quickly shucked off his jacket and boots before their eyes locked again.

She truly was the most beautiful person he’d ever laid eyes on – she always had been, but ever since the Forest of Dean, Harry couldn't stop looking at her with a small amount of awe and appreciation. She had become so strong, somehow even more capable than she was before, and her growing confidence in her own abilities suited her well. It shone out of her, and she felt like his own personal little beacon of hope that fired his motivation.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry – I’m a mess. I’ve been brewing in here for hours,” she laughed gently as she set down the freshly bottled potion she had been holding and grinned up at him shyly.

Closing the distance between them in a few quick steps, Harry passed through the barrier into the potions lab and grabbed Hermione by the waist, pulling her tight against him.

“And I love it when you’re a dishevelled mess,” he grinned at her as she scrunched her face at him.

Despite the awful heat of the small, enclosed space, he pulled her tighter to him before capturing her lips and kissing her deeply.

They hadn't been together since Christmas.

There had been some snogging, some snuggling, and one night with a rather intense session of grinding, but nothing else comparable to their night in the Forest of Dean had happened between them since. After the incident with the ice pond, they had both naturally become more sober, somber, and refocused on their Horcrux hunt and training efforts. Everything they had been doing was scheduled, purposeful and focused.

While a part of Harry desperately wanted more every day, every time he kissed her and every time he saw her smile – he didn’t regret that nothing else had happened between them yet. They needed to be focused on their mission. They had to be – and he had made a mental promise to prove to Hermione that they could be together and remain focused on their task at hand. After all, that had been one of her greatest concerns about acknowledging a relationship between them and going down this path during a war. So, Harry resolved to stay focused no matter what his hormones might think.

Besides, their last night in the Forest of Dean had been a blunt and brutal wake-up call from their single night of bliss. It was a rude welcome back to the reality of what they were tasked with. There would be time to be intimate again later, they would make time, but right now, they needed to focus their attention and time on the mission so that they could feel back on track and like they were making progress.

Hermione groaned under Harry's lips, pushing herself up against him as her hand gripped the belt on his waist.

Or, Harry thought mischievously as he gently pressed Hermione back into the potion workbench. Maybe we can make some time now.

“Harry – I wanted to tell you – my – idea,” Hermione breathed between each kiss as Harry’s hand slid up her back to tangle in her mess of curls.

“Mhmm,” Harry murmured as he turned his head to kiss her more deeply and nibble her bottom lip.

“Mm – aaahh – it’s – it’s to get the antivenom recipe,” she gripped his belt tighter and grabbed at the front of his shirt. Her hips were pinned between his and the bench, and he had started to gently move against her.

“Mmm – that is important,” Harry breathed as he pulled his lips away to look down at her. Despite the desperate need of his body, he did not want to stop her from relaying something important. Her eyes were half-lidded and glazed over, and she was still gripping him tightly as if to pull him back to their kiss before he spoke again. “What was your idea?”

Hermione searched his face, her eyes flicking over his and lingering on his lips before they flicked back up to meet his. Her frustration with the halting of his movements was apparent as her eyebrows creased in annoyance, and she pushed gently against him.

“Harry, you can’t be serious,” she breathed heavily against him, a slight laugh gracing her lips as she dropped her head with a thud against his chest. He could feel every part of her against him, and there was no doubt in his mind that she could feel his hardness against her hip. “Ugghhhh – you come in here like that – kiss me like that – then you want to hear my idea?”

“Well – I mean, I had other ideas, but the antivenom is important,” Harry grinned at her and squeezed her side gently when she raised her head to look up at him in disbelief. He couldn’t stop the small chuckle that escaped him at her frustrated expression. Apparently, she was also craving some physical intimacy but had been keeping her desires at bay to stay focused on their mission.

“It is, but I can tell you the details later – the long and short of it is that I came up with a plan to contact Mr. Weasley using a triple protean charm combined with disguising, protective and cryptography spells that I read about last summer.”

The words poured from Hermione’s mouth quickly, and Harry could not prevent his eyebrows from raising.

“Of course you did,” he said with an amused smile as she pulled him closer to her. “And I suppose it’s an easy solution that was rather obvious too?”

“Oh shut up – of course it was,” Hermione rolled her eyes at his teasing before she kissed him again. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

“Good,” Harry murmured back against her lips as he pushed his hips into hers once more to bring forth a small groan. “Because there was something else that I wanted to try first.”

-x-x-

Hermione’s heart fluttered as Harry’s hand tangled deeper into her hair, and his mouth moved slowly against hers. It felt like ages since the last time they had kissed like this, and she had missed it. They had become so focused on their mission – which wasn’t a bad thing – that they hadn’t made any time to be together since the Forest of Dean. But with the last of the potions that she could develop before collecting more ingredients made, they could spare some time tonight to be together before they ventured back into more dangerous situations to collect the remainder of what they needed. Right now, she would let herself forget where they were and just dissolve into Harry’s arms. She wasn’t planning to start the work on contacting Mr. Weasley until tomorrow anyway, so their night was wide open.

Harry pushed against her more firmly; his hard length pressing into her hip making her stomach roll in anticipation. She moaned when he nibbled at her lip and dropped his mouth to her neck, tracing long and painfully tantalizing kisses along the exposed skin. She breathed against his ear and wrapped her arms around him to grab the back of his shirt, desperate to close the little distance between them.

“Harry, let’s get out of this lab.”

With a grunt of agreement, Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the lab toward what they had recently begun calling their bunk. Within seconds his hands were back on her body as he lowered her down to the bed. She pulled him forward with her, spreading her legs so that he could lay between them on top of her.

It was incredible how natural it felt to have him there, laying between her legs with his weight pressing down on top of her. It felt safe, warm, and secure. And his gentle movements against her core made that familiar little coil begin to tighten. She wound her hand into his hair as his tongue entered her mouth.

His hair is getting ridiculously long, she thought before another moan poured out of her lips. She brought her other hand down to grab his belt and pulled down as she thrust her hips up into him and smiled when a low growl escaped him.

“Fuck, Hermione,” he breathed against her before he brought his lips to her neck again. “You feel so incredible.”

She watched as Harry moved his way down her body, kissing along her neck, pushing her loose tank top up to expose her chest and continuing his way down her stomach until he reached her hips. The thought of her scars didn’t even cross her mind as he went. Her focus was entirely captured by the feel of his lips tracing their way over her skin.

When he reached her hips, he stopped and looked up at her; and she nodded – knowing that he was waiting for her approval to continue. She gripped the sheets on either side of her tightly in anticipation. Even though they had already had sex, she still felt nervous. They had only done it once, and the last time Harry had removed her pants, his face wasn’t right there. So she couldn’t help but feel a jolt of electricity chase through her nerves at the thought of what this thing was he wanted to try. 

I wonder if he’s planning to use his mouth, she thought as Harry carefully removed her shorts and panties. She could feel a blush cover her cheeks as she lay before Harry bottomless. The chill of the main tent area made her feel exposed, and she found herself craving the warmth of having his body pressed up against her.

The tent was dim in the late evening, but it was lighter than the last time they had been this intimate and Harry was now hovering a few inches from her most private bits – she knew that he had a clear view of everything – and that made her heart race. She could feel the coil in her center tightening as she bit her lips nervously and forced her body to remain still.

She couldn’t look away from him, watching as his eyes remained fixed between her legs for several moments before he looked up at her. She knew she was as flustered and flushed as ever, and the deep lust in his eyes only made her squirm even more underneath him.

“Hermione,” he said, holding her eyes with an intense and smouldering gaze.

Oh fuck, she thought as her stomach flipped over. There’s that deep baritone voice again.

She knew that she was already wet. Whenever he had that look and used that voice it affected her. But with the way he was gripping her hips right now – she was doomed. She wanted him; she needed him to touch her.

“Yes,” the words rasped from her lips. It didn’t sound like her at all. Her voice was deeper and lusty, and she felt Harry’s hand tighten on her hip in response.

“I’m going to try something – if you don’t like it, that’s okay, just let me know.” He moved so he was laying at an odd angle at the foot of the bed, his head lined up between her thighs, hand still on her hip as he waited to see if she would object.

“Okay,” she breathed. A small amount of mortification crept up inside her as she watched Harry lower his head between her legs. She could feel her eyes widen as she watched, unable to tear her eyes away from the scene of anxious anticipation, want, and horror before her.

She wanted this, but her mind was racing.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god – his face is right there, what if it tastes bad!?  What if it’s awful? What if – her thoughts were cut off as she felt the first soft touch of Harry’s tongue against her slit, and her eyes fluttered shut.

She let out a breath she didn’t even know she had been holding as he ran his tongue along her slick folds once more, and her head fell back.

Fuck, she thought as her brain ceased to function. His movements were slow and tentative, as if he was waiting for her to buck him away with her hips in rejection – but with each movement, he let his tongue slide over her clit, and it felt surreal. It was soft, gentle, delicate – she didn’t have the words to describe it, but the feeling was completely different than when he had used his fingers like before.

It was much more intimate, and every single touch was completely for her.

Her fingers tightened in the sheets beside her as her mind went into overload at the sensation, and thoughts began to once again race through her head at an alarming rate. Her breathing sped up. She furrowed her brow in frustration as she felt herself losing control over her thoughts.

No! she thought quickly as she tried to regain control. She wouldn’t allow her anxiety and mortification to run amuck in her brain and ruin this when it so obviously felt good. She wouldn’t allow her mind to overthink the fact that it was Harry’s face between her legs and his tongue touching her… there… that was causing these incredible sensations.

Don’t overthink it, she breathed calmly to herself. Trust him. If he didn’t want to be down there – he wouldn’t be. Just focus on the feeling.

She breathed deeply and forced her face and shoulders to relax until she slowly untangled her fingers from the sheets and let the calm take over her body. Harry had clearly anticipated her hesitation and he continued to move slowly until most of the tension from her body had dissipated. Then, she felt him move his tongue more quickly, it pressed harder against her clit, and her breath caught as she gasped at the feeling.

Fuck, that feels good, she thought as a small moan escaped her lips. Apparently, that was all the reassurance that Harry needed because his motions became more deliberate, his grip on her hip tightened, and she felt him slide a single finger inside her. When he curled it up toward her stomach, she outright groaned in pleasure, and her hips reflexively ground up against him.

“Holy shit!” Hermione groaned out as one hand shot down to tangle in his hair.

Her body trembled. It felt like her nerves were on fire as the coil at her core was burning and tightening with each swipe of Harry’s tongue. Her mind was blank to any thought or reason, and she felt her eyes roll back as Harry inserted a second digit and began sucking on her clit as his fingers pressed gently against that wonderful little bundle of nerves he had discovered a month ago. Her hips flexed against him, her breath was short and shallow, and the muscles in her abdomen tightened as she felt that familiar building sensation in her core as he continued his ministrations.

“Harry – I – fuck, Harry, I’m,” the words tumbled from her lips between the moans that she couldn’t prevent. “Oh god, Harry I – I’m going to come.”

Harry’s grip on her hips tightened, holding her firmly in place against the mattress and controlling the rocking of her hips. His fingers stroked her more quickly and he swirled his tongue over her clit in a motion that made her see white. She fell apart under him, swearing as her body tensed and twitched, her hand tightly gripping his hair with no mercy as her hips rocked against his mouth. He continued to stroke her as she rode out her orgasm until the hand that gripped his hair fell away to the bed, and she lay there panting, eyes glassy and unfocused. She watched through the haze as Harry pulled himself away from between her thighs and kissed her hip before he came to lay by her side.

He had a rather large grin on his face.

“So,” he said as he kissed the corner of her mouth. “Was that okay?”

“Pfft – Harry,” she swatted him gently at the teasing question and grinned when he laughed. “Was that okay? Seriously? – fuck – yes, that was more than okay.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Harry whispered in her ear before he ducked his head to kiss her once more.

She could taste herself on his lips – it was a little bit sweet but hard to describe, though it wasn’t bad – and with that, she felt a tiny part of her buried anxiety fall away as she moved her lips against his. She could feel the bulge in his pants still present as it pressed against her hip once more. She grabbed his belt and tugged him closer as she traced her hand over him.

She wanted to taste him.

She wanted to know what it was like to have him in her mouth – to see what he tasted like, even if the idea of it made her heart race. She was nervous that she would be terrible at it, but she had, of course, done a least some research and was determined to not let her anxiety get the best of her. She would do it, because she was Hermione fucking Granger, and she could manage anything.

“Harry,” she murmured against his lips.

“Mmm?” He questioned as he kissed her back.

“I want to taste you,” she pushed at his shoulder gently, rolling him onto his back and crawling above him so that she was straddling his hips. She could feel his hard erection through his jeans pressing up against her wet center. She rolled her hips and grinned down at him when he groaned – she could see the desire in his eyes and the control he was fighting to maintain.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, his eyes hazy as they searched over her face. He was gripping her hips tightly and she knew that he wanted her to be sure. “You don’t have to – I didn’t do that because I was expecting anything.”

“I know,” Hermione said with a small smile as she pushed her hips down into his once more. “But I want to.”

With that, she scooted down Harry’s legs and began to undo his belt. His eyes tracked her every movement as they darkened with want – like a predator watching its prey. She carefully undid the fly of his pants before she grabbed the sides of his jeans and boxers and pulled them down over his hips. Her heart raced as she took in the sight of his fully erect cock, and she could not help but marvel at its stature as it stood proudly – while simultaneously wondering how the hell she was supposed to fit the whole thing in her mouth.

While she was never much for reading smutty novels like many of the other girls her age had been, she never turned away from knowledge either – even if it was smutty knowledge. So, when Katie Bell had been talking to some other girls in the dormitory bathroom about how to give blow jobs, she had paid attention quietly while preparing for bed – crinkling her nose at some of Katie’s choice words and inwardly gawking at the fact that Katie had just admitted to giving head to a fellow Gryffindor student in an empty classroom.

Katie had said that you should use your hand to start with. It apparently helped with the sensation and also helped if you were unable to fit the whole of the guy’s length in your mouth. She recalled that Katie suggested going slow and stroking up and down as you essentially bobbed your head with the motion – and now would be the time to test that knowledge.

Her cheeks flushed as she tentatively reached her hand out to take him in her grasp.

This will be the first time that Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, has ever touched a male penis.

She almost laughed as the thought ran through her mind, but it was quickly squashed down as she closed her fingers around him and hoped to god she truly was as bright as everyone seemed to think she was – and that she wasn’t about to mess this up too badly. She was surprised by the feel of it. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but it was harder than she thought it would be as she experimentally gripped her hand more tightly and moved it up and down. She heard Harry’s breath intake sharply, and when she glanced up, she saw that his eyes had hooded slightly. His gaze was locked on her with a deep want that sent a chill down her spine.

Well, that’s a good sign, she thought as she shivered under his gaze and moved her hand again. His skin was softer than she could have imagined, and his slit was slick with pre-come.

Slowly, she lowered her head; unsure of whether or not she should just pop the tip in her mouth she opted instead to slowly trace her tongue around the head. She kept her eyes focused on her hand and the stiff length that twitched in her grasp as she continued to trace her tongue. A low breath escape his lungs and she inwardly smiled. Feeling a bit more sure, Hermione opened her mouth wider and slid him into her mouth.

“Oh fuck,” Harry groaned out as Hermione slowly bobbed her head and twirled her tongue along his length.

Her heart fluttered at the noises he was making as she continued to move her head, circle her tongue and slide her hand up and down with each movement. Katie had been right – using her hand as a guide helped her control how much of him she took into her mouth at one time, and it helped her keep her pace. She tried taking more with each bob, and she could feel Harry’s body tense as he restrained himself from thrusting into her mouth as she moved.

When she lowered her head far enough that he hit the back of her throat, she realized that she wouldn’t be able to take the whole length of him in. At least not yet; not without gagging anyways. She put a mental pin in that thought to research it later and see what she could do to try and improve.

“Shit – Hermione – fuck. That feels so good,” Harry gasped as she continued moving her mouth over him. She felt his hand come to rest on the top of her head, gently tangling within her hair but being careful not to push down. “Just like that – you can squeeze harder – oh fuck.”

At Harry’s words, Hermione had tightened her grip on his length. She hadn’t been gripping him very tightly before because she was afraid that she might squeeze too hard and hurt him, but evidently, that was not the case. His response to her extra pressure was instant, his hand curled more tightly in her hair and a string of expletives left his lips as he struggled not to buck his hips into her. She sucked him harder, moving her head up and down with her hand, tracing her tongue along the underside of his length before circling it around to the head.

“Oh my god, Hermione – fuck I’m going to come, Hermione, you–“

His words stopped as she tightened her grip further and circled her tongue one last time. Harry’s whole body tensed as he let out a moan and Hermione felt his cock become impossibly hard before hot liquid spurted into her mouth. She knew it was coming – yet hadn’t been expecting it and she was caught off guard as some of it hit the back of her throat. She stopped moving her head and instead remained motionless on her knees, her mouth still surrounding him as she stroked her hand up and down his length and his release filled her mouth.

Oh – my, okay – what do I do now?! Her mind had started racing again as she realized he was finished. Do I spit it out or keep it in? Do I take my mouth off now? Should I swallow this? It’s warmer than I expected, kind of salty? What did Katie say?  

She forced herself to breathe as she removed her lips from him but kept his release inside her mouth, covering her lips gently with one hand as she looked up at Harry.

Fuck he looks gorgeous, she thought as she stared up at him. His hair was a mess, his eyes were glassy and dark, and he looked more relaxed than she had ever seen him before. Images from their first time fluttered into her mind – him coming undone over top of her, filling her channel and groaning in bliss. He had been incredibly attractive in that moment too and it made her stomach fluttered to think that he would have looked like that only seconds ago – and that she had accomplished it with just her mouth and hand.

“Hermione, I’m sorry – you don’t have to swallow that – I was going to tell you to stop before I came,” Harry had started to sit up, and she could see the embarrassment creep across his face as she realized what she must look like from his perspective. She was sitting back on her heels by his knees, her mouth filled with come, blushing with her hand clapped over her mouth.

She shook her head before she made her decision and decided quickly to swallow. She saw Harry’s eyes widen as she did it and she smiled at him when she was finished.

“It’s okay,” Hermione said a little bit shyly as she looked at Harry and gently wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. It was more viscous than water, tasted slightly salty, and was warm – though it wasn’t bad. She could see how some girls complained about ‘swallowing’ especially if they had a bad gag reflex but she decided that she would probably do it again. Especially when Harry seemed to enjoy it so much. “You told me you were going to – I just, I guess I wasn’t thinking about that part – but – I – I don’t mind.”

“Merlin, you’re perfect,” Harry breathed as he reached out to her, and pulled her toward him.

They laid together on the bunk, Hermione’s head resting on Harry’s chest as his hands wrapped around her and she snuggled into his warmth.

This is perfect, she thought as she felt Harry trace gentle circles on her lower back, her tank top pushed up around her ribs so that he could stroke her skin. Everything about this is perfect, because it’s with Harry.

“You’re perfect,” she mumbled against him as she breathed in his scent, nuzzling her nose deeper into his chest. She smiled as he pulled her tighter to him in response and relaxed into his hold.

“So, what was your idea?” Harry asked after they had laid there for several minutes, enjoying the post-activity cuddles.

“Mm,” Hermione recalled their conversation when Harry had first entered the tent. She turned her head and rested her chin on his chest so she could look up at his eyes. “So, it’s a triple protean charm combined with disguising, protective and cryptography spells.”

“Mhmm,” Harry nodded, recalling what Hermione had said to him earlier in between their heated kiss. “And how do you plan to set that up?”

“When I was brewing the potion, I saw my ink bottle cap on top of my notebook and remembered the coins that I had made for the DA meetings. Do you remember them?” Hermione asked, smiling when Harry nodded. “Well, those coins were charmed with a protean charm – so when I changed mine, all the others would change to show the date and time of the next meeting. What I want to create is something similar, but that allows us to send coded messages back and forth.”

“Makes sense,” Harry said as he shifted so Hermione could cross her arms over his chest to rest her chin on them more comfortably. “So, how are we going to do that?”

“Do you remember the summer we spent at the Burrow in fourth year before the Quidditch World Cup? Well, during our time there, I helped Mr. Weasley get a subscription to a muggle magazine called Science Focus – it covers a lot of neat things, and Mr. Weasley was ridiculously interested in the topics. It really skyrocketed him past questions on rubber duck functionality and into the territory of real technological discussion. I’d brought him an old copy just for fun and he found the articles titled things like ‘the science behind why chocolate will kill you’ devastatingly amusing. So, I got him a monthly subscription that is delivered to a post office box in Ottery St. Catchpole – the small town near the Burrow, and he stops by once a month to pick it up. And I know that he still receives and reads them because we talked about them just this past summer before the wedding. My idea was that we could leave him a modified magazine in the post office box along with a muggle ‘commemorative coin’ that has been issued to ‘long time subscribers’.”

“Wait,” Harry interrupted as he quirked an eyebrow at her. “Are you saying that you’re responsible for the two-hour-long conversation that I had with Mr. Weasley this past summer about why coca-cola tastes better out of glass bottles rather than cans – when, mind you – I’m pretty sure that he has literally never had coca-cola before in his life?”

“Uhh,” Hermione grinned at him sheepishly as she shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry? I guess – I mean, it turned out to be helpful in the end, right?”

“Unbelievable,” Harry laughed as he shook his head. “Ugh – that magazine led to so many bizarre conversations. I’m pretty sure you’re responsible for nearly giving Mrs. Weasley an aneurism – but okay fine – yes, it turned out to be a good thing – I guess.”

“Hey – the keyword there is nearly. He only gets them once a month, so the topics wear off after a week or two.” She grinned at him as he rolled his eyes.

“Okay, so we sneak into the post office and modify his magazine – how is that going to work with the coin?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrow once more.

“Well, the magazine will be spelled with a dual protean charm to match a blank notebook that I have here. The first half will allow us to write to him – the words will show up on his magazine pages in coded text, and the second half will be charmed so that he can write on the magazine pages, and his text will show up in my journal. The coin will be protean charmed too, so that I can give him the cypher for the text we send. I’ll instruct him to burn the pages after they are sent as well, so each page is a one time use and no one else will be able to stumble upon our messages.” She smiled at Harry proudly. “It’s safe for two reasons. First, the messages will be encoded and only Mr. Weasley will know what the cypher is. And second, no one in the wizarding world suspects anything from muggles – most of them don’t even know what a cypher is either. Remember Snape’s puzzle guarding against the Philosopher’s Stone? It was so simple, it was brilliant – most witches and wizards lack in the logic department and rely heavily on magic. Besides, literally no one else would ever even open his magazine, let alone read it.”

“I agree,” Harry said, grinning down at her. “That’s clever – very clever, and keeps us a safe distance away from Mr. Weasley so we don’t risk being spotted or have anyone catching on to him meeting in unusual places. It also opens up two-way communication available more than once – but we should still be wary of the topics we write back and forth. How are you going to get the message to him the first time, though, so he knows what’s going on?”

“I’ll leave him a note on the magazine explaining everything – but charmed to activate only when he touches it. I’ll layer it with a modified disillusionment and disguising spell along with a protective charm, so basically, he will be the only one able to see it and the words will vanish after a set amount of time. I’ll tell him to burn it after he reads it as well.”

“You make it sound like it’s so simple,” Harry sighed as he kissed her head.

“Well – I mean, it is a little simple,” Hermione laughed as she sat up from Harry’s chest. She was positively starving and had just realized that they were lying in the tent together naked from the waist down for the last half hour. “I really should have thought of it earlier and set something up to communicate with the Order before we left – I guess I just thought that we would have more time to prepare.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry sighed as he sat up and grabbed his pants. His stomach rumbled as he began to pull his boxers back on. “We all thought that we would have more time – more time to prepare, more time to say goodbye – but we’ll make it work. How long do you need to prepare the coin and magazine?”

“Well, the coin and letter I’ll do tomorrow. I’ll also get my notebook set-up, but I’ll need the magazine to be able to complete everything.” Hermione had already replaced her shorts and was fishing out a sweater from her purse that sat next to the bed. Now that she was out of the potion lab and their activities were over, the chill from the tent was starting to set in. “The magazine is delivered on the 4^th of every month and Mr. Weasley usually goes the following weekend to collect it. That means we need to be in Ottery St. Catchpole in 2 days to break into the post office and complete the charms of the February month issue.”

“Okay, we can do that – while we’re there, we can grab some additional supplies and see if there is a local apothecary. It would be safer than Diagon Alley. The wizarding presence in Ottery St. Catchpole is rather large – so they may have something.” Harry stood and went to the kitchen to throw on the pot pie as he began mulling over the few details that he knew about Ottery St. Catchpole.

“That’s a good idea,” Hermione nodded at him as she shrugged on her sweater and stood to go use the bathroom. “I’m going to get the lab cleaned up before dinner, and then we can make a list of what we want to grab while we’re there.”

“Okay,” Harry kissed her gently as she walked by, smiling as she blushed and walked toward the bathroom. He watched as her slender form disappeared down the short hall, the soft padding of her thick fuzzy socks making his heart flutter as he thought about how she had looked hovered over him only moments ago. How they had been so intimate but also remained capable of switching back to business.

Fuck, I’m so lucky, he thought as he turned back to finish preparing what would now be a very late dinner.

Harry gritted his teeth and tried not to flinch as a boulder the size of Hagrid hovered directly above him, and he held his breath as it started to lower. It was made worse only by the fact that the rock had been strategically selected to have a small surface area on one side to, as Hermione so eloquently put it, ‘better mimic the bite force of a werewolf’. In Harry’s opinion, it just made the rock look that much more unnerving and stabby, given its pointy nature.

While they had started with smaller rocks and worked their way up in size, Harry could not help the butterflies that swirled in his stomach as the rock lowered further down only inches now from the shield charm that he had just cast on himself. If it wasn’t for his immense trust in Hermione, he would have stepped aside ages ago. As it turned out, mimicking the bite force of a werewolf was incredibly difficult to do when neither one of them was an animagi of a comparable animal, and they didn’t know any comparable spells. And they figured it would be a bad idea to go looking for trouble with local animals or testing out new magic.

Hermione, however, had concluded that if the modified shield could withstand an equivalent weight pressing down on it over a comparable surface area – then by default, it should hypothetically be able to withstand a bite from Nagini or a werewolf. ‘Since that’s all bite force really is, just force over an area’ she had stated matter-of-factly.

Hermione estimated that the bite force of a werewolf exceeded that of Nagini, and it was likely just over 2000 psi. Since they were not able to find any rocks that had a 1-inch square surface area on any side that just happened to weigh 2000lbs, they had to select a larger rock in order to get comparable force over area – or at least that was how Hermione had explained it. As a result, she selected the pointiest rock she could find with a weight larger than what they would’ve needed had the rock had a 1-inch square side.

Ether way, a giant rock was now about to be lowered on top of his head – and Harry was very glad that it was Hermione who was controlling it. She had implemented several backup safety measures, including a tether on the rock so that it would only fall so far and therefore not completely crush or kill Harry if the shield failed. She was also standing right there controlling the rock, only ever allowing partial weight to rest on his shield so they could see if it held.

“Ready?” Hermione called, with far more confidence than Harry seemed to be feeling at the moment. He trusted Hermione completely, but standing under a boulder still made him nervous.

“Yes, I guess,” Harry said as he glanced upwards once more before locking his eyes on Hermione. “Let’s do this before my shield runs out – I’m exhausted from the last two times, and I’m not sure how much longer I can hold this.”

Hermione nodded before she lowered her wand a fraction and allowed the giant rock to rest gently on Harry’s head before she slowly lessened the levitation, and allowed more and more of the weight to rest on the shield. It was a funny feeling having a giant rock trying to bore into and crush you but having the pressure and force stopped by an invisible wall. Harry could feel the pressure on his head, kind of, it was massively reduced. It felt like someone was gently resting their hand on his head prior to tussling his hair – and there was absolutely nothing painful or heavy about it. He waited anxiously and glanced up to see that the boulder was pressing into the nothingness just a few centimeters above his head, and the shield held – it didn’t buckle, and Harry didn’t move from any physical force.

“Okay, I’m going to give you 95% weight,” Hermione said as she concentrated on removing more levitation from the rock, allowing it to settle on Harry’s head with even more weight. She trusted her backup tethers, but she would never 100% let go of her control on the rock – that would just be irresponsible and foolish. “How is it?”

“It’s fine,” Harry said as he stood very still and still only felt the light touch on the top of his head. “I can tell it’s there, but it’s just like a light touch.”

“Harry, that’s fantastic!” Hermione grinned triumphantly before she resumed full levitation on the rock and removed it from above Harry’s head, placing it gently to the side. “Well, I’m glad we tested it but let’s not do that again, okay? I don’t fancy the idea of squishing you with a rock accidentally – backup tethers or not, this was dangerous, and I’d much rather keep you around.”

Harry grinned as he felt the shield give out exactly in line with the mental timer he had set. They now officially had two protective shields – one partial shield for magical attacks and one fully protective against magical and physical attacks. It felt a little bit like having gold in your back pocket. With practice, Harry suspected that they would be able to increase their durations on the full shield, but until then, they could cast either charm dependent on the situation they were in.

“Well, it’s confirmed,” Harry said as he shuffled through the snow to Hermione and wrapped his arm around her waist. “With resistance to physical blows, I can only hold the modified shield for four minutes – and you admitted that you would miss me if I was gone.”

“Psschh – Harry! What a horrible thing to say – miss you? Of course I would miss you,” Hermione swatted him on the chest before she allowed herself to be pulled into a tight hug. “You know how important you are.”

“Mhmm,” Harry mumbled as he kissed the top of her head. “I am the chosen one.”

“Oh, for the love of – Harry, you know what I meant – that you’re important to me,” Hermione had pulled herself away from Harry’s chest to glare at him. “You know how much you mean to me, Harry.”

“I know what you meant,” Harry said quietly before he kissed her gently, taking his time to absorb the softness of her lips. “You’re important to me too.”

Harry grinned as a smile split across Hermione’s face, and he pulled her back tightly to his chest.

“You know you’re brilliant, Harry,” Hermione murmured against his chest. “This spell is incredible.”

They remained outside for several minutes, holding each other in the snow as they both became lost in thought. Hermione had finished charming the coins, her notebook and created the note to Mr. Weasley that morning – she had even selected the first cypher for their communication and preset the coins.

After lunch, they had apparated to Dartmoor National Park to be closer to Ottery St. Catchpole and so that Harry could implement his testing plan using the natural rocks in the area. He had taught Hermione the newly modified shield charm, which she was able to hold for three minutes, then they had spent the rest of the afternoon trying it out to see if it truly would resist physical attacks – though it had taken a bit of effort for Harry to convince Hermione that it would be okay to drop rocks on him.

She had flat out refused at first until she came up with a back-up safety mechanism which turned out to be a modification on a tether spell that some wizards use on their animals to keep them in their yard. The magic was tricky and would never work on intelligent magical beasts, but on smaller animals or nonmagical animals, the tether acts as a temporary leash and prevents the object from moving past a certain point. In this case, Hermione had set the limit to about mid-chest level on Harry – so that if his shield spell did fail, he wouldn’t be completely crushed. She had also insisted that he stand in between two large flat rocks that were about waist height so if the tether failed, they had a physical barrier that would stop the rock from crushing him.

Harry had truly appreciated her efforts to ensure that he did not get injured or crushed, and he was glad that she took over designing the testing methodology. So far, everything they set out to accomplish that day had been successful and frankly, that made Harry nervous. Every time things started to go well for them, or they started to get on track, or they made some kind of headway – it always seemed like things went to shit. He pulled Hermione tighter as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

You are immensely important to me, he thought as he breathed in her scent along with the bitter cold air. And I will do everything to protect you.

-x-x-

“Alright, are you ready?” Hermione asked as she finished packing up the last of the items on her potions workbench.

She wanted to have the coins, notebook, and explanatory note readily accessible in her purse for when they broke into the Ottery St. Catchpole post office in a few short minutes. They had spent the remainder of the previous day reading and studying late into the evening. They went to bed much later than their usual schedule, forgoing a night watch and instead relying on their many alarms and wards – hoping to be well-rested for their midnight sneaking and break-ins. It was just after midnight now, and they were planning to follow their usual routine of apparating a short distance out of the city and sneaking in under the invisibility cloak. However, since the city was so close to the Weasleys – who were known opposition to Voldemort – they figured that the city might be monitored by some of Voldemort’s followers, so they decided to use Polyjuice potion for this journey for extra safety.

Once they got into town, they would break into the post office first and make the changes to the magazine, as this was the top priority of the mission. Secondary to that, assuming that they didn’t run into trouble during their post office break-in, they planned to grab some supplies from local grocers and then break into the Ottery St. Catchpole apothecary to get some additional potion ingredients needed to finish the last few batches of blood replenishing potion, essence of dittany, and calming draught.

Hermione was also hoping to break into the muggle pharmacy, which was located just across the street from the apothecary, to get some muggle supplies for minor injuries. She figured that if they could treat minor scrapes and bruises and other nonmagical injuries with muggle remedies then, they would be able to save their potions and salves supplies for the more serious injuries. She had proposed the idea to Harry while they had a late breakfast, and he’d had no objections since he was used to muggle products from his childhood anyways.

“Ready,” Harry said as he shouldered his pack and met Hermione by the entrance to the tent. “I was looking at the map, and I think that our best point of entry is going to be from the south side as it’s closest to the post office. After that, we can apparate to the east side and approach the apothecary; it’s near the muggle hospital and the pharmacy that you wanted to go to.”

“Okay – I know a good street to the south that we can apparate to that should be dead this time of night. After this, we only have four more hair samples – but we have enough Polyjuice potion left for six more transformations,” Hermione said as she held up two small glasses of Polyjuice potion and then turned to exit the tent. “So, if the opportunity comes up, we should grab some more samples.”

“Sounds good. So, who will we be today?” Harry asked as he started to disassemble the tent to pack in Hermione’s purse while Hermione carefully added different human hairs to each glass and struck the samples from her notebook, so they knew they were used.

“Today you’re a tall sandy-haired young male, and I – am your hot blonde girlfriend,” Hermione grinned at him as he stuffed the now shrunken tent into her bag. She handed him the glass when he was finished. “Bottom’s up!”

“God, I hate this stuff,” Harry said with annoyance as he eyed the glass with contempt before downing the whole thing in one gulp.

They both immediately covered their mouths and grimaced as the taste hit their tongues, and they forced themselves to swallow the brew. It was horrible, and if they hadn’t taken it previously and been expecting the taste it would have been difficult to keep down. Regardless of how much Hermione hated Barty Crouch Jr or how much she detested him as a human being – she had to admit it was impressive that he drank as much Polyjuice potion as he did throughout their fourth year of school to keep up his Mad Eye Moody charade. She wondered if he had intentionally spelled away his taste buds or that perhaps he had found a way to adjust the potion to make it not so utterly disgusting.

Or maybe he just got used to it, she thought as she scrunched her nose at the lingering taste.

Hermione watched as Harry grew another two inches, and his hair changed from black to a light sandy colour. His eye shape changed along with their colour until they settled in at a dark brown. She could feel herself growing several inches and tried to ignore the tightness across her chest as her boobs grew several cups larger – apparently, this girl’s boobs were real.

That was one of the fascinating things about Polyjuice potion and using it with hair you borrowed from muggles, it changed you to match the person’s genetic appearance, not their altered one. So, depending on who you stole hair from, you could be in for some surprises – like a different nose, extra skin, or even smaller boobs.

“I like your normal hair better,” the sandy-haired man in front of her said as he reached out and ran Hermione’s newly blond and newly straight hair through his fingers. “This is so – so ordinary, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Hermione blushed as she reached up to grab his hand and squeezed it. “This should last us about three hours give or take some, so we should get apparating.”

They apparated just outside of Ottery St. Catchpole on the south side as Harry had recommended. Harry held Hermione’s wand while she kept a firm grip on his other ungloved hand. When they landed, they crouched into their defensive position and waited while Harry cast several silent spells, including homenum revelio to ensure that they were alone – but Sidmouth Road at 1 am was empty, cold, and dark. They had purposely apparated south of Gerway Lane to avoid being seen. There was nothing lurking near them but trees and snow-covered farmland – no one knew that they were there.

They changed grips, and Harry gently held the back of Hermione’s neck while she bent over to fish out the invisibility cloak from her bag. Once they were covered, she grabbed Harry’s hand again, and they made their way slowly into town toward the post office while vanishing their footprints from the snow.

Despite having only been to Ottery St. Catchpole once, Hermione couldn’t help but feel like everything was so familiar. How many times was it now that they had snuck into a town and broken in somewhere to either get supplies or information? Her senses were on high alert, and they flinched at every noise, every rattle and any movement of the trees that they saw.

When this is all over, Hermione thought to herself. I think I will miss this the least.

Fighting for food and supplies, sneaking around and being on high alert somehow always left her feeling like she had run a marathon. Probably from the sheer amount of stress and adrenaline pumping through her veins as her body was constantly vigilant and waiting for attack. She would be happy when her sneaking days were over.

When they reached the post office Harry quietly unlocked the door, and they slipped inside. Hermione led the way to the post boxes at the back of the building, where Mr. Weasley received his subscription to box number 153. It took Hermione only a breath to unlock the box wordlessly and pull out the magazine. When she did, she almost snorted at the cover, which read ‘Plants – are they listening to your conversations?’ . She turned to Harry who promptly rolled his eyes when he read the cover and shook his head.

It took Hermione about twenty-five minutes to complete the charms on the magazine and link it to her notebook using the double protean charm. The coin, which was already prepared, was then carefully inserted into an envelope and placed within the magazine. Hermione used a sticking charm to ensure that the envelope would not fall out of the magazine and made it look like it was intentionally part of that month’s issue. Harry watched her work while maintaining a gentle grip on her hip; he’d pushed his hand under the fabric of her jacket and sweater, and would apparate them away if anything unplanned happened.

Once the charms were completed, Hermione then placed the letter to Mr. Weasley inside the front cover of the magazine. She used a sticking charm to fasten it as well and placed a fourth disguising charm on the letter. Even Molly Weasley wouldn’t be able to see the note she had left explaining how their communication would work – it was for Mr. Weasley’s eyes only and would vanish if forced to reveal itself by any other wizard.

Once she was done, she carefully placed the magazine back in the post box and relocked the door before turning around to Harry and grinning widely – step one of their mission had been a success.

They then crept their way back to the post office door and quietly left the building. Before apparating to the east side of town, they popped into the small grocery store just down the street that they had passed on their way in and restocked their supplies. Hemione grimaced as she looked at her change purse while counting out money to pay for the groceries – this whole ‘saving the wizarding world’ escapade was taking a huge hit on her financials, and she was starting to regret not taking out more money from Gringotts and her muggle bank. They would likely need to start trying to catch or harvest more of their own food. She had already been trying to collect mushrooms and other small things like nuts and berries while they travelled, but it looked like it would need to become a more regular routine.

She and Harry had planned to stop at Gringotts before skipping out on seventh year to go Horcrux hunting so they could both collect money from their accounts. She knew that Harry was well off and that he had probably intended to take out a small fortune to fund whatever they needed. They never told Ron about their plan since they both knew that he and the Weasleys didn’t have much money to contribute, and they didn’t want him to get upset. They had been planning to make it a separate trip with just the two of them early in the morning before Ron woke up the week after Bill and Fleur’s wedding, but they never got the chance – they didn’t expect the wedding to be the last night they would have to prepare. Hermione had had her bag, clothes and essentials for all three of them packed for days, but their post-wedding Gringotts trip never happened, and to show up at Gringotts in Diagon Alley now would be a death sentence.

Once clear of the main street, they apparated over to the east side of town and landed on Cadhay Lane so that they could sneak into the apothecary and the nearby muggle pharmacy. Their walk to the apothecary was equally as stressful and tense as their walk to the muggle post office had been. The wind was picking up and the associated noises made both Hermione and Harry stop several times on the walk to crouch down while they waited to ensure that they were truly alone – but a combination of the cold and perhaps even some luck seemed to be on their side tonight. They made it to the apothecary undisturbed.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered, her words barely audible beneath the invisibility cloak. “There may be wards and charms.”

Harry nodded in agreement as they crouched next to the side of the apothecary building. It was an old stone house, where the owner clearly slept upstairs, and the shop was on the main floor facing the street. Harry wondered how long it had been there for, and he smiled in amusement when he thought of how many Ottery St. Catchpole muggles must walk by this building each and every day without evening knowing that it was there.

Holding Hermione’s wand steady in his hand, he cast several charms to check for any wards – finding none, they crept slowly toward the main door to check it.

“No wards, but the door is charmed and locked,” Harry whispered to Hermione after testing the door. He handed her back her wand. “I don’t suppose you know any fancy spells to get us in without setting off some sort of alarm, do you?”

Hermione cast a detection spell at the door, and sure enough, Harry was right. While the whole building had no overall wards – likely to prevent them from going off at all hours of the night either due to neighbourhood cats, drunk muggles, or local kids, the door was indeed locked tight with some impressive charm work. A simple unlocking spell wouldn’t open the door – and even if it would, Hermione wasn’t stupid enough to use it. The charms placed on this door would alert the owner, who was likely sleeping upstairs, that it had been opened outside of business hours or tampered with.

“No,” Hermione mouthed back before gesturing for Harry to start moving back around the building. They shuffled their way around the house and vanished their snowy footsteps until they were in the side yard of the house.

“So, what are we going to do?” Harry questioned as he watched Hermione flick her wand at the building and squint her eyes as she examined it in the darkness.

“Well,” she sighed after a moment and when several more wordless detection spells had been cast. “For starters, I’m going to add burglary skills to our list of things to work on. The whole building isn’t warded, just the door on the front, and there is some spell work on the main floor – probably a movement detection spell that activates on the main floor during the evening. As annoying as it is – on the bright side, it’s probably safe to assume that this apothecary has a good selection of ingredients.”

Harry snorted slightly at her optimism and waited for her to continue.

“The way I see it, we have two, or possibly three options. First, we wait until morning and then enter as disguised customers – but that would mean using more Polyjuice potion, and the store owner may be a bit suspicious since we aren’t regular customers. Plus, you never know who we might run into during the day or who might be watching the store. Second, you levitate me up to that second-floor window, and I’ll break in and then levitate you up. We can then try to dispel the motion detection ward on the main floor before making our way down there.”

“What’s the possible third option?” Harry asked when Hermione had stopped speaking and was looking at him guiltily.

“Well,” she hesitated. “The third option is quite illegal.”

“You mean more illegal than breaking into someone’s home?”

“Yes,” the guilty look on her face doubled. “If I’m unable to dispel the motion detection spell on the first floor – well, we can always find the bedroom of whoever owns this place and immobilize them so that they can’t do anything when the detection spells go off. We then have to grab what we need quickly and get out before releasing them.”

“How exactly would we be immobilizing the owner?” Harry asked as he now understood where Hermione was going with her train of thought.

“Well, we could use immobulus or petrificus totalus, and worst case if we had to – which I don’t want to consider it – we could use imperius – but either way we look at this, we can add attacking an unarmed and innocent wizard on top of our breaking and entering crime.”

“How certain are you that you could remove the motion detection spell on the main floor?”

“I’m not sure,” Hermione frowned as she rubbed her brow with her wand hand since Harry still kept a firm grip on the other. “Maybe sixty or seventy percent? I sort of need to attempt it to see – or at least examine the spell work from the inside. But if I fail, well – then we’d be in trouble. It would be better to just immobilize the person first, but then they will know we are there for sure.”

“Alright – okay,” Harry’s brow creased as he pondered how to move forward. “How about this. Let’s go to the pharmacy first and get the supplies you want from there – that way, if the apothecary goes poorly, we just leave right away and we’re not out anything else. We’ll try a freezing charm first, and worst case, we just leave and apparate back to the northern coast.”

“Okay, yes, let’s try that – I’d rather not have this turn into a duel,” Hermione agreed as she nodded, and they made to move across the street to the small muggle pharmacy.

Breaking into the pharmacy was easier than catching flobberworms.

A quick unlocking and freezing spell later and they had entered the pharmacy and shut off any muggle security alarms that might have been present. Harry trailed quietly behind Hermione under the cloak as she went from aisle to aisle, collecting various items ranging from feminine products to band-aids, splint material, medical wrap, acetaminophen, and disinfectant. He raised an eyebrow when she grabbed several syringes from behind the counter along with some needles and a long plastic tube that were sealed in sterile packages.

“You never know,” she muttered as she then counted out some bills to place in the register to cover the cost of the materials she had taken.

Leaving the pharmacy and heading back to the apothecary proved to be more difficult. They were almost across the street – their pace slowed by Hermione needing to vanish their footprints in the freshly fallen snow when Harry froze on spot and grabbed her hand more tightly before pulling her into their defensive crouch position. She then heard the gentle shuffle of feet in the snow before she heard a low mumble of a voice.

Oh bugger, Hermione thought as she squinted her eyes to see down the narrow street and made out the shape of a dark hooded figure. It was walking up the sidewalk from their right toward them. Of course our luck would run out.

She felt Harry squeeze her hand firmly and she glanced at him to see him make their wait signal, indicating that they should hold on spot, before her eyes traced back to the cloaked figure approaching. They both crouched perfectly still and waited to see what the figure did, but based on the cloak, he was clearly a wizard. As the unknown wizard closed the distance toward them on the sidewalk, they heard a noise to their left before a second figure emerged from around the corner.

“Anything on yer round?” The first cloaked figure asked as it slowed to speak with the second, just to the left of where Harry and Hermione stood hidden under the invisibility cloak on the street.

“Nah,” the second replied in a gruff voice.

Though Harry’s grip remained tight, neither one of them made to apparate away – the sound would be a dead give away, and they needed to get ingredients from the apothecary if they wanted to have enough potion supplies. Getting caught near an apothecary would be suspicious and the last thing they wanted was for some ridiculous article to be published in the Daily Prophet that led to more security or guards around the very type of store they needed to break into.

“I ain’t seen nothin’ from the blood traitors all week – I don’ know why they think sumthin might be going on ‘ere – only thing I saw was one of ‘em mangey wolves tryin’a come in the north-east side.”

“Those fucking dogs are causing more trouble than they’re worth,” the second hooded figure replied back angrily.

“Hey mate – keep yer voice down, you never know if they be listenin’,” the first man responded as he glanced nervously over his shoulder.

“Ah fuck it, those dogs cause more noise and trouble than I ever would,” the second man said as he waved his hand in dismissal. “I told the last one I caught trying to sneak into town to fuck off before I neutered him like the dog that he was. They’re supposed to be covert, but those bloody fuckers don’t know what the fuck that means, and they just keep trying to move south. They’re already regularly pulling from Bristol, and the muggles have noticed, the disappearances are on their news. Stupid as muggles are, they’re not completely moronic – they’ll notice a bunch of people being taken.”

“I know, worst part is the girls,” the first man sighed and brought a hand to his head. “It was one thing when they was just takin’ the homeless – but now tha’ they takin’ the girls from the pubs? Yeah it’s as you said, the muggles notice.”

“I just don’t understand why he even wants them. They just cause problems and cock everything up.”

“Ah who knows,” the first man said. “I recon it’s jus’ the brute force he’s after – he’ll prolly kill ‘em all once he’s done with ‘em.”

“Yeah, well, I hope that’s sooner than later,” the second man spat at the ground. “Otherwise, we’re bound to see more action than what’s necessary from the blood traitors – or we’ll end up in full-on war with the muggles before we’re ready. They should have leashed the main pack too, not just their damn muggle grunts.”

The first man nodded before he took out his wand and cast a warming spell on himself.

“Alrigh’ then, I’m freezing my arse off. Yer goin’ to take the east side for the rest of the night then?” The first man asked as he quickly cast a second warming charm on himself. He’d clearly been taking some kind of first watch and was trading off with the very unimpressed second man.

“Yeah, yeah, even though it’s a fucking waste of time. You tell Scabior – that if I see another one of those fucking dogs – I’m going to blast its head clean off. I don’t care what the orders are, they’re flee bags, and they’re just causing problems.”

“Aye, I know, you say tha’ every night,” the first man said as he started to walk past the second man toward the corner.

“Yeah, but this time I mean it!” The second man called to the first.

The first man raised his hand in the air to acknowledge the second’s words, but he kept walking until he had rounded the corner and they heard a faint pop.

“Fucking mangy dogs,” the second man muttered to himself as he began strolling down the street the direction the first man had come from.

Hermione and Harry remained frozen under the cloak for the entirety of the exchange, waiting until the second man was far from view and until not a sound could be heard. Then they waited a few minutes longer. Hermione knew that not all of Voldemort’s followers liked or supported the idea of involving the werewolves, but she had not anticipated that the werewolves would be causing such problems for their own side – though it did make sense when she thought about it. Werewolves who embraced their curse tended to become more primal in their behaviours. They were often violent, hot-headed, hard to reason with, and they weren’t something that could be controlled. She felt Harry let out a breath behind her.

“Well, that was fucking lucky,” he muttered in her ear.

“I’ve actually been meaning to ask you, Harry,” Hermione muttered back as they slowly began moving toward the apothecary again. “Did you happen to have more liquid luck hidden away that you decided to drink today?”

“No,” Harry snorted. “It sure seems that way doesn’t it. Though – I’m sure our luck will change again, just give it time.”

Hermione’s jaw clenched and her mouth fell into a tight line. Harry was right. They never had good luck, and surely this only meant that they were about to get royally screwed over in some way – it was only a matter of time. As they approached the side yard of the apothecary again Hermione pondered the conversation that they had just overheard, she knew that Harry would be thinking about it too and they needed to discuss it. She wanted to start spending more time on the golden bands and try to compile all the bits and pieces of information that they had. It was also something that they should consider telling Mr. Weasley about – she assumed that he was still in touch with Mr. Shacklebolt, who was the advisor and protector of the Prime Minister. If the werewolves were taking muggles in such a way that it was upsetting even some of Voldemort’s followers, maybe they could somehow warn the muggle public without it being obvious that they knew a larger plan was in the works. She made a mental reminder to discuss that later with Harry. They were now crouched down under the second-floor window of the apothecary, and they needed to refocus on the task at hand.

“Okay, so you’re going to levitate me up to the second-floor window, and I’ll climb in. Afterwards I’ll levitate you up, and then we’ll find the bedroom,” Hermione said quietly to Harry as she handed him her wand before slowly uncovering herself from the cloak.

They both agreed she would be levitated up first since she would be able to levitate Harry up wandlessly – and thus, they could avoid trying to throw their only wand to each other in the dark. Their hands were still gripped tightly together as they did one final scope out of the surrounding area before deciding it was time to complete their plan. Harry removed the cloak from himself and tucked it safely into her purse.

“Ready?” Harry asked, squeezing her hand firmly before letting go.

“Ready,” Hermione breathed.

Harry pointed her wand at her and then wordless cast his spell. Hermione felt her feet leave the ground as Harry carefully directed her up to the second-floor window and held her steady as she unlocked it and crawled inside. He waited until she was securely through the window before he lowered her wand – the last thing he wanted to do was drop her two stories down; despite the snow, the landing would still hurt. Hermione poked her head back out the window and gave a small thumbs-up before Harry felt himself being lifted from the ground. When he finally reached the same level as the window, he could see that the window entered into a small study room filled with books. Grabbing the ledge firmly, he pulled himself through the window before Hermione lowered him back to the ground.

Hermione wasn’t sure who the man was that owned this apothecary – but she felt even worse breaking into his house after she saw all the fantastic books that he had laid around his small study. The majority of the books seemed to be focused on potion making, but there were others there regarding history, and some focused on charm work. It took a decent amount of her self-control to keep her hands off the tempting tomes. Linking hands with Harry once more, they crept toward the door to what she assumed was the hallway.

The second-floor landing of the house was dark, except for a small lantern that sat on a narrow table near the stairs. As Hermione approached the staircase cautiously, she could feel the slight hum of magical wards that were clearly not cast to be discrete on the main floor.

Yes, she thought as she peered down the stairs. There is definitely a motion detection spell down there - and it was cast with the intention of being noticeable. Whoever owned this shop was clever and knew that leaving a strong magical presence on the main floor would help to deter people from trying to break in. It was pretty much the equivalent to a dog marking his territory and leaving an absurdly strong scent.

Now that she was inside, she cast a few detection and analysis spells before frowning at the results. Hermione looked back and shook her head gently to Harry – whoever had cast this had not tried to hide it. The spell work was blunt, thick, layered and to the point. She doubted that she would be able to remove it without triggering something else. She simply had not spent enough time on her break and entering skills to be able to disarm the main floor without the risk of sounding the alarm. They would need to immobilize the owner.

Harry nodded in understanding and made for the only other door that exited onto the small landing. Before opening it. He cast two disillusionment spells. He didn’t want to take the cloak out in case they had to make a run for it, it was too valuable to lose, but disillusionment would suffice for approaching someone who was hopefully asleep. The door to what they assumed was the bedroom was unlocked and opened soundlessly when Harry turned the nob.

It was indeed a bedroom, and there was indeed someone sleeping in the bed. What they had not anticipated, though, was the very large owl that stood proudly on a tall perch near the window that had – at the soundless sound of the door – turned its head to inspect what was going on. It took only a tenth of a second for the owl’s eyes to narrow suspiciously and for its beak to open wide.

“Shi–“ Harry started to say before he was cut off by the immense screech of the owl.

With two quick flicks of his wand the owl fell silent, and the man that had sat bolt upright in bed froze in place before he had managed to turn and face them.

“Well, that was unexpected. You go downstairs and get what you need. I’ll stay here to keep them immobilized and make sure nothing else comes in – be quick,” Harry whispered hastily as he looked at the blank space where he knew Hermione was standing beside him.

“On it,” Hermione said as she let go of his hand. “You remember our meeting place?”

“Yeah, in case something happens, let’s meet there.”

“Okay, I need my wand for a moment,” Hermione said as she reached out toward the nothingness that was Harry and grabbed her wand.

She then quickly removed the audible alarm from the main floor – the rest she didn’t care about. The man currently frozen in his bed probably had alarm bells ringing in his head from her tampering, and he was about to get more when she set the motion detection off, but he obviously knew that they were there anyway. So long as nothing was blaring out into the neighbourhood alerting any other people of their presence, Hermione couldn’t care less how many alarms she set off. With the audible alarm removed, she returned her wand to Harry and quickly descended the stairs into darkness. Wandlessly, she cast a small light and found the handle of the door which opened to the main floor shop at the bottom of the stair.

The apothecary was neat and tidy, everything was labelled, and she smiled despite the situation.

At least this will be easy, she thought, and she began collecting ingredients.

She grabbed larger quantities than she knew she needed – there was no time to measure and no room for error or being cheap. Everything she grabbed was quickly stowed in her purse as she kept a rough mental tally of the cost in her head. This was going to cost her a small fortune, and she would be basically out of coin. She grabbed valerian roots, unicorn hair, bicorn horn, mandrake roots and several other ingredients. She quickly ran up and down the shelves searching for dittany and clenched her fists in frustration when she couldn’t find any. She was just about to give up and place the money on the counter when she noticed a row of jars on a shelf behind the counter.

“Perfect,” she said as she spotted the second last jar on the left, which was labelled in beautiful cursive as ‘dittany’, and she quickly hopped up and over the counter.

The ingredient was scarce and expensive, so it wasn’t really surprising that it would be kept behind the counter along with several other more expensive ingredients – but the second her fingers touched the glass jar, a loud screeching began.

“Ah, fuck!” Hermione cursed as she unscrewed the lid of the jar and rapidly dumped the dittany into her purse. Her ears were pounding at the sound, and she could feel a dizziness settling over her. She slammed the money she had previously taken out down on the counter. She wasn’t sure if it would be enough to cover the dittany she had just taken, but she did not have time to recount. If this ever ended, she would return and ensure that she paid the man back in full, but without her wand she couldn’t silence the alarm, and they needed to get out before the neighbourhood heard it.

Of course the items on the back shelf had separate alarms you idiot! she screamed at herself inwardly as she threw herself back over the counter and landed with a wobble. The screeching sound from the jar, was making her nauseous and severely unsteady. She suspected that the man had placed the charm on the jars so that only he could touch them and take out product for customers.

The charm is probably permanent and on there all the time, she surmised as she jammed her fingers in her ears and forced her legs to move their way toward the staircase. With each loud shriek from the jar, she felt like her head was suffering from whiplash – like she had been hit with a violent bout of vertigo that made her nearly fall down and vomit all over herself. She’d almost made it to the top of the stairs when she heard a loud popping sound.

“Peter! What’s–“ the voice of another male was cut short as she saw Harry flick her wand several times while simultaneously trying to cover his ears.

“What the fuck happened?” Harry yelled to her as the alarm seemed to grow louder.

“A jar was charmed – I couldn’t dispel it without my wand,” she yelled back as she climbed the last step and staggered into the wall.

Their disillusionments had worn off and she could see Harry standing at a bizarre angle as he tried to block out the sound and maintain his balance. When she got closer to Harry, she glanced in the bedroom and saw that both the owl and the man were now frozen in a different position. The man had actually managed to get out of bed before Harry had immobilized him again, and the owl was now laying on the ground with its wings spread – it had clearly been hit mid-flight and then dropped to the ground. Harry’s aim with his wand is distorted, she realized.

“We need to go,” Harry forced out before he grabbed at his stomach with his hand. “Bloody hell, I’m gonna puke.”

Hermione reached to grab for Harry but lost her balance as she uncovered her ear and instead stumbled disoriented to her left through the door of the study and fell to the floor. Her insides felt like they had just rotated ninety degrees, throwing her center of gravity off and hitting her with a fresh bout of nausea. She clenched her jaw and shut her eyes tight to prevent herself from puking, knowing full well she would not be able to apparate while inside the house without splinching them into several pieces.

“Clever bastard,” she groaned through her tightly clenched jaw as she buried her face into the carpet of the study, trying to stop the swimming of her head and stomach. This apothecary man was a genius, mess with someone’s senses like this – wizard or no, and there was no way they were leaving his house with anything.

In fact, she doubted that anyone tried to burgle this man.

She felt Harry grab her hand and pull her to her feet as her stomach rolled once more, and she retched and vomited on the floor of the man’s study and across one of his books. Harry dragged her to the window before he lost his balance completely and fell next to the ledge.

“I think that’s quite enough,” a man’s voice boomed from the other room.

Hermione’s vision was still rolling, but she could see the man who had been immobilized in bed approaching the study doorway from the hall with his wand extended and flashing with light. Whoever it was that had apparated into his home had called him Peter – but Peter’s friend was still frozen in place, so Peter was on his own. She could begin to feel the effects of the Polyjuice potion wearing off as she leaned against Harry who was slumped against the wall with his hand over his mouth.

Oh yes, this is just a great feeling, she thought sarcastically as the awful feeling of transforming back into her normal self started to hit her body while the ringing alarms in the house continued to feed her violently spinning vertigo symptoms.

She felt Harry grab her waist tightly, his hand slipping under her coat and beneath the fabric of her sweater so it came to rest on her bare, scarred skin. She knew what was coming even before he gave the small tug to shift them fully in front of the still-open window.

“You think you can come into my house and steal from my store!? Who do you think you are!” The man yelled angrily as he stormed into the room and began closing the space between them quickly before he raised his lit wand to point directly in their faces.

Hermione flinched, squinting her unfocused eyes in response and forcing them to stay still while they tried to roll out of her head and upturn the contents of her now empty stomach once more. She strained them to look the man in the face. He was middle-aged – perhaps around Mr. Weasley’s age and had dark brown messy hair. Then she watched as his angry and rageful expression morphed into a look of utter disbelief and confusion.

“You can’t be Harry Potter?” Peter asked incredulously as a glint of fear crossed his eyes. At the same moment, Hermione heard Harry retch behind her from the nausea and felt him make a final tug around her waist.

“I’m sorry for the mess,” Hermione managed to say before Harry tugged them both backward and out the window.

Arthur Weasley whistled happily as he strolled down the snowy main street of Ottery St. Catchpole on his way to the local post office. He’d had the muggle tune of We Wish You a Merry Christmas stuck in his head since he first heard it walking through the town in December, and it had become one of his favourites to whistle this year – much to the annoyance of Mrs. Weasley when he was at home and stealing snacks from the kitchen. 

The morning was crisp and beautiful, and Arthur could not help but smile. He felt peace settle over his soul as he walked, admiring the beautiful white snow and icy crystals of the quiet morning. It was days like this that gave him hope and inspired him to remain positive about the ongoing war efforts.

Things had been particularly bleak over the last few months. For starters, he had found out that his youngest son had abandoned Harry and Hermione and was now hiding out at Shell Cottage with his elder son. He knew that Ron’s absence from the Burrow was partly to avoid the wrath and badgering of his wife and partly because Ron was trying to figure out what to do next while hiding his embarrassment and shame. Secondly, Bathilda Bagshot had been found dead by two Aurors in her home in Godric’s Hollow, or well… what was left of her home. The top floor of her house had been exploded during some kind of altercation, and the remains of Bathilda that they found were disturbing to say the least.

They were also dealing with trying to keep the muggle public out of the know, which was becoming increasingly difficult as more and more muggles turned up dead or went missing. The Death Eaters were growing bolder with each passing day. They were acting out in public, including in muggle areas which was difficult to conceal and resolve. Not to mention the much more frequent and highly suspicious sightings of werewolves in denser populated areas – which was a nightmare for logistics and made the Order feel as though Remus Lupin’s efforts throughout the past year trying to recruit the known packs had been a massively wasteful effort that endangered a key member of the Order for no gain whatsoever.

Then there was the extra fun drama of his own family that seemed to never end. Aside from Ron abandoning his friends, returning home, and the tension that it caused with his wife and Fred and George – there was Percy, who had been a sore spot for the family for a number of years. And now Ginny, who had come home at Christmas with a girlfriend, announcing that she was gay while explaining the rebellion and war efforts that she had been leading with Neville Longbottom of all people while at Hogwarts last semester. That had sure spun things into a tizzy with the household and resulted in a large outburst on Christmas day that would surely go down in Weasley family history.

So far, the majority of the Order’s war efforts had been covert and under the table. The Ministry was infiltrated – that was well known and a surprise to no one. The Daily Prophet was bought and paid for and currently run by Death Eaters. The curriculum at Hogwarts had changed, and most magical families were too afraid to do anything about it – being more interested in keeping themselves and their family members safe rather than getting involved and helping the cause.

Arthur couldn’t even blame them. Times like this were difficult and demanded a kind of courage and bravery that most people were not accustomed to. It also demanded sacrifices, ones that most witches and wizards were not willing to make. People die in war. It had been years since the last great wizarding war and people were not eager to lay their heads down on the chopping block – especially when Harry Potter had run off on some alleged secret mission.

Even though Arthur didn’t know what they were up to – and Ron, to his credit, had still refused to say what they were doing when he returned home rather sheepishly – Arthur trusted that they were fighting the war in their own way. Likely on Dumbledore’s confidential orders. He knew that Hermione was not one to abandon a cause midway, and he knew that Harry was loyal to Dumbledore to a fault. So, he trusted that they were working hard at whatever it was that they were doing. 

The problem was that many others within the wizarding community viewed Harry’s absence as a sign of the times – that Harry had gone into hiding because Voldemort had become so powerful that the war was a lost cause. People were choosing to keep their heads down and follow along instead of fighting back. People were afraid. Voldemort and his followers had taken Harry’s disappearance as an opportunity to gain more power, and they’d had the Daily Prophet issue article after article about how Harry had abandoned the wizarding world to return to the muggle world. They also ran several stories stating that Harry was a killer and a thief, and generally just a bad person. The amount of garbage that the Death Eaters pumped out of that newspaper was astounding, and the Ministry had officially made Harry their Number One Undesirable.

The Order had started Potter Watch through radio communication as a means to try and maintain support from the wizarding public, to reach those that still believed in the cause or were hesitant to fully support it. Their goal was to keep people informed on what was really going on while trying to show that Harry was still on their side and helping in some way despite them having no actual idea what he was doing.

Suffice to say, it was difficult to keep morale up, and it was hard to keep people in touch with the truth when they really had no idea how Harry was helping – except that they just had faith in him.

But with the cold crisp air Arthur felt refreshed. He had pushed the worries and doubtful thoughts from his mind, and he was intent on going to pick up his favourite magazine and stop by the apothecary to get some ingredients for Mrs. Weasley. She was planning to make her famous headache remedy and pepperup potions. Their supplies had been ransacked heavily over the Christmas break, and the twins had recently come down with a nasty head cold, so Mrs. Weasley was planning on delivering some freshly brewed pepperup to them this afternoon. It was the perfect weekend to be out and about, and for the first time in ages there was no secret meeting or work that needed to be done over the weekend. So he actually had time to read some of his magazine before helping Mrs. Weasley around the house.

Arthur reached the post office and smiled as an electronic bell rang when he opened the door. 

Muggles, he thought fondly as he stomped his boots to clear the snow and walked into the shop. They make such neat inventions.

“Good Morning Howard!” Arthur called cheerfully to the man tending the front counter as he walked to the post boxes at the rear of the store.

“Good Morning Mr. Bell,” the cashier said with an amused smile on his face as Arthur strode by in his typical monthly routine.

It took Arthur several months to become comfortable with going into the post office and unlocking his post box on his own. He was always worried that someone might think he was stealing, and so he used to stop at the counter to inform Howard, the clerk, of his business at the back of the store each month he went to get his magazine. Both Howard and Hermione, once she found out that this was what Arthur was doing, then explained to Arthur that it was his post box and he was allowed to go and check it any time that he wanted to while the post office was open and that no one would think he was stealing.

Arthur had decided to get the magazine subscription delivered under the name Alex Bell in tribute to Alexander Graham Bell, the muggle inventor who created the telephone. He also got his post office box created under the same fake name. Hermione would deny it to anyone who asked her because it had been illegal, but she had created a fake muggle license for Arthur to use as ID, and had come with him to setup the post box. And while Howard would deny it to anyone who asked him, since most of the other muggle store owners found Mr. Bell odd, Mr. Bell was truly his favourite customer, and he quite enjoyed his visits. 

Even though Howard agreed that Mr. Bell was a strange man, it was impossible not to enjoy his cheerful nature – or find his eagerness to hear about how ‘business at the post office’ was going amusing. Howard also took great pleasure in answering Mr. Bell’s odd questions or telling him about his own hobbies since Mr. Bell always found Howard's hobbies fascinating, and this made Howard smile. Over the years, he had learned that Mr. Bell particularly liked tools and seemed to be a collector of them – though Howard was unsure what Mr. Bell used them for.

Arthur reached his post box and continued to whistle his song while he opened the small metal door and grabbed the magazine. He glanced at the cover and smiled. The title on the front would surely amuse his wife and would make for good snowy day reading material. He slipped the magazine into the inside pocket of his muggle jacket – which had been extended with an undetectable extension charm so that he could carry his magazine and any other goodies he picked up while in the small town. Then, he made his way back to the front counter to speak to Howard.

“So, Howard,” Arthur said brightly as he placed both hands gently on the top of the counter. “How’s the post business this month?”

“Oh, it’s back to normal I would say,” Howard smiled as he looked over Arthur’s cheerful features. “Now that the Christmas and New Year rush is over, it’s just the steady old mail and packages that we usually see. Have you gotten any new tools?”

“Ah yes! I have!” Arthur said proudly, his chest puffing out. Arthur wasn’t one to brag, but he was very fond of the gift that Fred and George had given him for Christmas this year, and he did not have the chance to tell Howard about it last month. Apparently, the twins had found it while looking for new ideas for their joke shop and thought it would make a good gift. “This year for Christmas, my two sons got me a jackknife!”

Arthur grinned at Howard excitedly, oblivious to the small smile that crossed Howard’s face.

“It’s the neatest little contraption,” Arthur continued as the amusement on Howard’s face increased. “It has a knife of course, which is in the name, so that’s obvious – but it also has all of these little miniature tools that you can pull out of the sides of it. Like clippers, a file and a wee little screwdriver!”

“That sounds wonderful, Mr. Bell,” Howard said as he grinned widely. It was always refreshing to see someone enjoy the small things in life and not need huge or lavish gifts to be happy.

“Yes, it is,” Arthur beamed back. “I’ve quite enjoyed it so far, carrying it around in my pocket at home just waiting to find things to try it out on. It’s very handy.”

Arthur then said goodbye to Howard and left the post office, continuing to whistle his tune when he stepped outside and turned to head towards the apothecary. Most other wizards that he knew would have walked back to Bits and Such, the small wizarding shop down the street that allowed you to apparate in and out of town using their side yard so that muggles wouldn’t notice, then apparated directly to the side yard of the apothecary. But Arthur didn’t mind the cold or the walk. He had charmed his jacket before leaving so that it would be extra warm. 

The walk to the apothecary was uneventful, and he arrived approximately 20 minutes later, cheeks flushed from the cold and ready to get warmed up inside the store.

“Good Morning, Peter,” Arthur called as he opened the door to the apothecary and stepped inside from the cold, taking a moment to vanish the snow from his boots before stepping off the doormat.

“Ah – oh, Arthur – good morning,” a tall dark-haired wizard said from behind the counter of the apothecary.

Peter had jumped slightly when Arthur entered the shop; he had been standing behind the counter, organizing the jars on the shelf behind. Usually, Peter was a well-put-together wizard, sharp as a tack, clever and never startled by customers entering the premises. Today though – well, Peter looked a little worse for wear. There was a hint of shadow under his eyes, his hair was ever so slightly dishevelled, and frankly, it looked like the man had not been sleeping the last few nights. Arthur cautiously looked around the apothecary, ensuring that no one else was inside before he spoke again.

“Everything okay there, Peter?” Arthur did not drop the friendly tone of his voice, but his eyes were serious and hinted of something more. “I hope no one has come around bothering you again?”

Peter was one of the wizards fighting on the side of the light – or well, as much as he could do without losing business or getting snuffed out by Voldemort and his followers. He had not publicly taken a stance or a position in the war, but he sold Arthur and the other Order members ingredients at a discounted rate – sometimes sneaking in more rare and important ingredients free of charge. He also acted as a front for information transference between Order members when possible, giving them a means to hand over data disguised and hidden inside ingredient bottles or boxes. 

Due to Peter’s family relations with several large greenhouses in England, he tended to have the best ingredients, and if he didn’t have it, he could get it. But Peter had been under immense pressure from the Death Eaters lately to either join their side or be bought out. So far, Peter had managed to evade their requests and outmaneuver their plays by providing less potent ingredients, pretending to be out of certain items and faking greenhouse plagues and dead crops – all the while stockpiling and storing ingredients underground for use by innocent everyday wizards or by the Order.

The Death Eater visits to Peter’s apothecary had been increasing in frequency the last few months, and Arthur knew that it was only a matter of time until Peter either caved or disappeared. He had spoken to Peter about it only once previously with Shacklebolt’s support – they needed Peter to fold and start to supply the Death Eaters when the time was right. While they did not fancy giving the Death Eaters more resources or power, they needed people like Peter to stay alive and stay in the positions that they had. Alive Peter could still help the Order, albeit less so, but that would be better than not at all. Not to mention the fact that Arthur liked Peter. He was a good man, and he deserved to live.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Peter said as he tried to smooth his hair and came to rest his hands gently on the counter for support. “You know how it is – it’s cold season, so it’s been crazy busy, and I’ve been having trouble with the mandrakes again.”

Mandrakes – yes, that was the code word that Peter and Arthur had decided to use when discussing the Death Eaters.

“Ah yes,” Arthur said sadly as he stood in front of the counter facing Peter. “Mandrakes have always been a handful. Have they been acting out again?”

“I’d love to say that they are only being as bad as they usually are, but this year they seem to be getting more aggressive. I have a feeling I might have to just cut my losses with them soon – especially given last night’s incident.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Arthur said sincerely, understanding that this was Peter giving him warning that he would soon be caving to the Death Eaters, and they would need to stop using his shop for information trade. As per their plan, they would still be able to buy ingredients like any other wizard, but no more critical information would be housed or transferred through the apothecary and ingredient shortages would disappear. “What happened last night?” 

He was nervous of what the answer might be. The Death Eaters had underhanded moves, and Arthur only hoped that no one in Peter’s family had been placed in danger.

“Oh, just a little surprise. An attempted break-in,” Peter said in a voice that was calmer than what his eyes showed.

“A break-in?!” Arthur could not help the incredulous tone of his voice or how his eyebrows shot up. Anyone who knew anything about Peter knew that you did not try to rob him – even the Death Eaters weren’t stupid enough to try it. This meant that either the lower-level snatchers had gotten desperate and too bold for their britches, or the Order now had a brand-new problem to deal with. Either way, it wasn’t good news, and it made Arthur’s good mood diminish further.

“Yes, it seems that two young kids thought they were smart enough to get into my shop and steal some ingredients.” Peter fixed Arthur with an intent stare as if trying to convey some kind of message, and then he continued to speak. “Luckily though, I caught them and sent them on their way before they were able to take anything.”

“So, no one was hurt, and you didn’t lose any supplies? That’s good – but kids, Peter? That’s odd. What were they after?” Arthur asked as he tried to work out what it was that Peter was trying to say.

“Well,” Peter hesitated and glanced at the shop door before he started to idly shuffle things around on the counter, tidying and rearranging the containers that sat there. “I wouldn’t say no one got hurt – there were minor injuries before I sent them away – but yes, nothing was taken. I was able to balance my inventory books over the last few days and confirm it. I’m afraid that’s why I look a little tired – I went through my supplies to make sure that there were no shortages of anything.”

Arthur nodded in understanding. 

The Death Eaters had been coming around and checking on the inventory of Peter’s shop for the last year – ever since Peter had started helping the Order by pretending to be out of stock or having supply issues. Based on Peter’s appearance, he had been up all night for the last few days adjusting his inventory books, not checking them. That meant that whoever was here left with supplies, and, Peter must have let them. Peter had shared some of the security measures that he had on the apothecary with Arthur when they first started working together, and Arthur knew that it would be highly unlikely that anyone got away unless Peter let them.

“Well, that’s good news,” Arthur said, placing a fake smile on his lips as he watched Peter pull a bag out from behind the counter. “Did you alert the authorities?”

“No, I didn’t,” Peter said as he placed the bag carefully on the counter and pulled out a rather large ledger that Arthur knew he kept his sales records in. “They were just kids, underage in fact. I didn’t want to bother the Ministry with what was surely just a dare gone wrong – you know how kids are. But of course, the racket my alarms made did draw some attention, so I did already have some conversations with the Ministry and assured them there was no cause for concern.”

“Well, that’s good,” Arthur said knowingly. The Death Eaters had already come by to see Peter, likely the Death Eaters that functioned within the Ministry. Peter had clearly managed to just scrape himself out of a disastrous mess and was under watch due to the suspicious events. Their time working together was over effective immediately. 

But who was it that Peter let take supplies last night? Arthur wondered.

“I have your winter order ready,” Peter said as he pushed the large brown bag toward Arthur and grabbed his quill. “All the ingredients that Molly will need to make her headache potion and pepperup brew. Make sure to thank Molly for owling me with her list ahead of time. With the shortages I’ve been experiencing, it really helps me organize and make sure each customer gets what they need.”

“It’s no problem,” Arthur said as he pulled some coins from his pocket to pay for the supplies. “Let’s just hope that things improve soon, so the shortages don’t go on for another year.”

“Yes,” Peter said with a small smile. “Let’s hope.”

Just then, the door to the apothecary opened and in walked Selwyn, one of Yaxley’s lackeys in the Magical Law Enforcement Department.

“Morning, Peter,” Selwyn grinned widely as he strolled through the apothecary toward the counter, not bothering to vanish the snow from his boots before he stepped off the mat.

“Good morning Selwyn,” Peter said with a false smile and tightened jaw.

“And what do we have here – Mr. Weasley!” Selwyn’s voice was rough and had a reserved sort of crazy to it that only a true Death Eater could manage. “What brings you into town on such a snowy, snowy morning?”

“Good morning Selwyn,” Arthur said tightly while holding the bag that Peter had given him. “Just getting some supplies for pepperup potion I’m afraid – round of winter illness seems to have hit the family.”

“Ah,” Selwyn said as he closed the distance and stood too close for comfort at the counter. “What a shame, it’s always unfortunate when those you love – are not well.”

“Too true,” Arthur said as he accepted the small amount of change that Peter held out to him, noticing the crooked smile and intense stare Selwyn fixed Peter with as he spoke his last words. “Thankfully though, Peter here was able to supply what we needed – and we should be set for the winter.”

“How fortunate,” Selwyn said as his eyes shifted to the bag in Arthur’s hands, and he glared suspiciously at it. “As it so happens, I’m also here to collect on some much-needed ingredients – that I’m sure Peter will be able to supply. Though it is unfortunate that you purchased so much dittany last month, as I was only able to buy such a small amount of it this morning.”

“Well,” Arthur said without missing a beat, knowing full well that he had not purchased any dittany from Peter last month. “I’m afraid I had some trouble with a misused muggle artifact last month that ended rather poorly. And with Fred and George’s line of business – well, let’s just say there were a few cuts larger than scratches that needed to be healed.”

“I’m sure,” Selwyn growled as his eyes narrowed.

“But Peter is the best,” Arthur continued as nonchalantly as he could muster, glancing at Peter to see if he wanted support – but he was met only with a small smile and the slightest shake of a head. So, Arthur gave the most reassuring smile he could muster before taking his leave. “I’m sure he will have more in stock soon, though – I best be off to give this to Molly. She has lots to brew this afternoon. Have a good day.”

Arthur turned and headed toward the shop door, resisting the urge to turn around and look back at Peter, knowing full well that it would be suspicious. His insides twisted at the lie that he had just told. He knew that he would need to tell Molly and the boys so that everyone was on the same page, and he might even need to fudge some of his own records from work to account for an imaginary injury. 

As much as he hated leaving Peter at the hands of someone like Selwyn, he knew that the longer he stayed the worse it would be – and that frankly, if Peter was to be killed for whatever happened last night, it would have already happened. Peter was not in immediate danger. Selwyn was just there to close out whatever agreement or threat that he had issued earlier that morning. 

But the question that was truly plaguing Arthur’s mind was why did Peter cover up the loss of dittany – how much could it have been? And for the people who broke in, why did they need it? Dittany was almost exclusively used in healing potions, so who was that injured?

-x-x-

Arthur entered the safety of his home and let out a sigh. The light and carefree morning he had was over, and he could feel the weight of reality settle back on his shoulders. The only ease that he felt while in his own house was that the Burrow was a safe zone, thanks to the protections added by Dumbledore, Alastor and the other Order members. He could actually speak freely while inside the boundaries without fear of being overheard. With that said, he was fully aware that the house was still being watched, so they never had conversations outside of the home.

He could hear Mrs. Weasley upstairs, probably putting away the clothes that she had been washing before he left that morning. He didn’t bother calling out to her to tell her that he was home – she would already know, and he felt like his energy had been drained from the exchange at Peter’s store. Instead, he placed the bag from the apothecary on the kitchen counter and began taking out the potion ingredients, placing them on the worn surface for Mrs. Weasley to use and consolidate with the pre-existing ingredients they had. 

As his hand touched a small jar of bicorn horn, he felt the slightest tingle in his fingers, and he froze. That was the method that he and Peter had established for passing information inside potion ingredient containers. They were spelled to vibrate faintly when the person the information was for touched the container, so they knew where to look.

It was Peter’s own design.

Arthur quickly took out the remainder of the ingredients and then returned to the bicorn horn container, unscrewing it carefully and dumping the contents out into a small bowl. Buried within the powder was a piece of paper so tiny you might have dismissed it for lint if you weren’t looking for it – but Arthur knew what he was looking for. He enlarged the paper and quickly began reading as the colour drained from his face.

Peter had left him a note describing the evening events that occurred on the 4^th of February – and now Arthur understood why Peter had hidden the robbery and ultimately, why he had decided to cave to the Death Eater’s demands and stop putting up a fight. 

Harry and a female companion, who Arthur assumed must have been Hermione, had broken into his apothecary during the middle of the night and ‘stolen’ a vast number of potion ingredients. Though, Peter specifically noted that they actually left money for the items they took. The majority of the ingredients were commonly used in healing potions, blood replenishers and other medical remedies. What was concerning was the quantity that they had taken and that they had broken in while under the disguise of polyjuice potion – Peter had realized this when he noticed that the man he’d seen in the hallway did not match the boy he saw in his study. 

Harry and Hermione had immobilized Peter and his owl while they gathered ingredients, and they actually managed to escape his house by falling out the second-floor window before Peter could stop them. Peter noted that while he did not manage to get a look at them before they disappeared, by the time he had gotten to the window, they were gone. He did hear a rather loud thump after their exit, and he was concerned that they might have been injured. Thankfully Marvin, Peter’s brother, had been immobilized during the exchange in the study and did not know that it was Harry Potter who had broken into the house.

Due to the audible alarms that Peter used, it only took a short time for Yaxley to hear about the ordeal and send over some Death Eaters to investigate and find out what happened. Peter had barely managed to change his ledger to account for the missing ingredients before they arrived, and he apologized for bringing Arthur into the mess by falsifying his records to show that Arthur had purchased a rather large amount of dittany the previous month. 

Since the event, Peter had been dealing with much more aggressive pressure from the Death Eaters, who had become increasingly suspicious that someone with such notorious alarms would have been willing to let some ‘kids’ go after an attempted robbery without reporting it. As a result, Peter had been spending his evenings the last few days putting together some final ingredient packages for the Order, sending them out with his owl disguised under a disillusionment spell, removing any Order stored information and returning it, and preparing to become even more of a pawn in the war.

Arthur heard his wife enter the room and he briefly contemplated burning the note in his hand and not telling Mrs. Weasley about Harry coming to Ottery St. Catchpole with Hermione. She would be upset to know that Harry and Hermione may have been injured, and she would be even more concerned regarding the ingredients that they had taken. After the fit she had at Christmas with Ginny, Arthur had spent the previous month desperately trying to keep any upsetting news from Mrs. Weasley’s ears for fear of setting her off. 

Perhaps it was traditional or old-fashioned of him, but he could not help but want to protect his wife – though, in truth, she didn’t need his protection at all. She was a fiery, brave, bold and strong woman who ironically, despite his efforts to keep her safe, often was the member of the household that spent the most time protecting the rest of the family and their friends. He sighed inwardly. He would have to tell his wife about the note since there was no way he would be able to tell her that they needed to lie about purchasing so much dittany from Peter without her asking other questions. And while Arthur would withhold information from Mrs. Weasley from time to time – he never lied to her, at least not outright, so he wouldn’t give her false excuses about the coverup.

“Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley said in a friendly voice as she rounded the table to join him by the counter. “Did you get all of the supplies from Peter’s? I owled him in advance telling him you’d be there Saturday, so he should have had it ready for you–”

Mrs. Weasley’s face fell when she came to stand next to her husband, and she saw that he was holding a piece of paper in his hands and looking rather lost for words.

“What’s going on, Arthur?” She asked immediately. Mrs. Weasley could always smell trouble, shenanigans, secret Order dealings, and just about anything else that someone might want to keep quiet.

“Molly,” Arthur started slowly as he forced himself to smile. “Everything’s fine – just that there was a bit of an incident in the town this week that has forced Peter’s hand. I’m afraid that he is going to be settling on some terms with the Death Eaters this weekend and won’t be able to help us as much as before.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Weasley frowned and she looked genuinely concerned. “That’s unfortunate – Peter is a good man. What happened – is he alright?”

“He’s alright, don’t worry,” Arthur nodded as he folded the note in half. “He actually gave me this note explaining what happened.”

“Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley warned when her husband paused. She knew that he was stalling. “What happened?”

“Well, it seems that there was a break-in attempt at Peter’s store – and well, it was successful. So Peter needs us to coverup the loss of some inventory, specifically dittany – so if anyone asks, we bought a rather large amount last month due to a misused muggle artifact incident, and for Fred and George’s injuries during their experiments.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Weasley said without hesitation, and she nodded firmly. “I’ll tell the twins when I drop off their pepperup this afternoon. It’s probable that they had an injury last month anyway, and that they just didn’t tell us about it and patched it up themselves – but Arthur – a break-in? At Peter’s?! No one breaks into Peter’s – why weren’t they caught?”

“Well – Peter did sort of catch them,” Arthur hesitated once more. “But he let them leave.”

“Well, that doesn’t make any sense,” Mrs. Weasley said as she shook her head. “Peter has always been very strict about how he handles robberies. Why did he let them go?”

“Because it was Harry and Hermione.”

Arthur watched as the colour drained from his wife’s face, and then he passed her the letter to read.

-x-x-

Almost two hours later, Arthur fell into the large old chair in his workshop and let out a sigh of exhaustion. 

This war is aging me too quickly, he thought as he rubbed the bridge of his nose gently and tried to ignore the ache in his back.

He reached his other hand down to fish out the magazine he had almost forgotten about from his pocket. As he expected, Mrs. Weasley had reacted with minor hysterics to the news of Harry and Hermione breaking into the apothecary, and she was deeply concerned over why the two of them needed so many ingredients for healing potions. He had sat with her at the dinner table having an early lunch while he walked her through the happenings of his visit to the town, his coded conversation with Peter, and they both reviewed the note to try and speculate why Harry and Hermione chose to break into Peter’s store.

Of all the apothecaries in England that they could have chosen, why did they risk coming so close to the Burrow? 

It didn’t make any sense, and after a while they gave up trying to figure it out. Instead, Mrs. Weasley started on the pepperup potion, feeling the need to complete it quickly so she could deliver it to the twins along with their coverup story regarding the dittany.

Arthur shook his head as he placed the magazine on his workbench and listened to the sounds of his wife bustling away upstairs. They had both agreed that when she delivered it to the twins this afternoon, she would tell them that they injured themselves last month, and she provided them with essence of dittany. However, they both concluded that no one else was to know about Harry and Hermione’s visit to Ottery St. Catchpole. Whatever the reason was – it was obviously intended to be a secret, and the duo had not meant to get caught based on how Peter had described their desperate escape efforts. So, the fewer people who knew about it, the better.

He stared blankly at the magazine cover and couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth when he read the title again. Though, if he was being honest, he really didn’t feel like reading the magazine right now. With all of the information that he had just received, sitting down and reading seemed like a waste of time – but Mrs. Weasley had insisted, saying that he still needed to take a moment for himself now and again. 

Begrudgingly he let out a sigh and made to flip open the cover, making a mental compromise that he would skim the main article to satisfy his wife before returning upstairs to help with the potions. He was horrible at potions, but he was decent at ingredient prep.

As the cover page flipped open, he saw a blank white page, almost like a piece of paper had been pasted on top of the first entry. He ran his finger over it to see if it was an insert – perhaps an ad for another muggle magazine. He had received some of those in previous issues, but the blank white page was stuck firmly to the first page, and there was no seam that he could pry at. His brow had just furrowed into a confused frown when suddenly text began to appear on the blank page.

Arthur dropped the magazine down on the desk and had his wand out in the blink of an eye – but as he skimmed the text that had appeared on the page, a huge smile split across his face.

“Of course,” Arthur murmured as he placed his wand down on the desk and picked up the magazine again. “This is why you two came to Ottery St. Catchpole – you truly are the brightest witch of your age.”

He quickly flipped the magazine open to the center and took out the coin that Hermione had left him before grabbing a quill from the holder to his right. He flipped back to the front of the magazine to re-read her instructions, making sure that he understood them fully and had them memorized. 

He had read them over four times before the ink started to vanish, and the edges of the white paper insert started to curl as it caught fire and burnt away – without damaging the rest of the magazine. He grinned again. 

What a clever, clever witch, he thought as he flipped to the pages of the magazine that Hermione had indicated were reserved for him to write on. 

Then he dipped his quill in ink.

"I'm sorry for the mess," Hermione managed to say before Harry tugged them both backward and out the window……

Bitter cold was the first thing that hit Hermione as they rolled backward out the window of the apothecary and into the night. It was followed closely by a fresh round of nausea from the momentum of their fall, and for a brief moment, she thought that she might throw up mid-air. Her brain was rolling and spinning from vertigo caused by the security alarms within the apothecary. Yet despite her addled state of mind, she could feel Harry's grip tighten around her waist, and she knew that their impact with the ground was imminent. They wouldn't be able to apparate away. They didn't have skin-to-skin contact, but more importantly, their senses were still too distorted from the alarms. 

She was going to land right on top of Harry; he had made sure of that with the way that he pulled her out the window, lining them up so that he would take the majority of the impact. Despite the plentiful snow on the ground below, she knew that they could both be critically injured if they landed wrong and that even if they landed 'right', they would still be injured – just to a lesser degree.

Hermione closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, forcing her brain to focus on the stinging cold against her face. Then she concentrated her senses, and cast an extremely poor nonverbal, wandless spell to slow their fall. It worked – sort of. Harry hit the snow-covered ground with a loud thud that echoed through the night air. Then the wind was knocked from Hermione's chest as she collided with his body. 

Fuck that hurts, she screamed inwardly as her lungs desperately tried to fill with air, and she stifled a loud groan.

At least the impact helped to jar her senses back to some sort of usable state, and the freezing wind that whipped harshly over her face also provided a firm slap back to reality. Harry moved quickly beneath her, pushing her up into a sitting position and moving in close behind her. He pulled the invisibility cloak out from her purse and began hurriedly throwing it over them. Hermione could hear his laboured breath on her ear and the small groan that escaped his lips as he moved.

He's broken a rib, Hermione thought as she grabbed the end of the cloak that he tossed over her and spread it out to cover their legs. Possibly more.

Once covered, they sat there unmoving on the ground. Harry kept Hermione's wand aimed up at the window above them, and they both watched it carefully with bated breath – waiting for the apothecary man to peer outside. Hermione ignored the snow that was now melting down her back and burning at her skin. She fought to keep her eyes from rolling as she focused on the open window above while she clenched Harry's free hand tightly. The apothecary man appeared at the window only an instant later. He had obviously been startled by their grand exit, and this had afforded them the time to take cover under the cloak, but only just.

The man was staring down to where they had fallen, a look of disbelief barely visible on his face in the low light as he realized that the space was empty – or at least it looked that way. 

With one look, Hermione knew that the man was shocked. No one would have been able to apparate so quickly after having their senses ruthlessly assaulted by his alarms. And yet, as he looked out the window, there was no one on the ground. The man craned his neck, leaning over the sill to peer out into the surrounding neighbourhood and backyards. She didn't know what the man would do if he caught the 'thieves' that had stolen from him based on the extraordinary extent of his alarm, but as she watched the man look out over the snow, she could have sworn that she saw a small smile touch his lips. Then, he shook his head in astonishment, confirming that he had not spotted them, and ducked back into the house. 

The second the man closed the window and retreated from view, Harry and Hermione both let out the breath they had been holding and slumped against one another in relief.

"Are you okay?" Harry murmured against her ear as he lowered her wand and wrapped his arm around her body.

"Mostly," Hermione answered in a low whisper. "We need to move away from here, get our senses in order and then get the hell out of this town. Are you okay?"

"Probably," Harry groaned as he tried and failed to pull himself off the ground. "I think my ribs are broken. It feels like a hippogriff is sitting on them – which is making important things like breathing difficult."

"Oh, they're broken for sure," Hermione said, snorting at Harry's attempt to be light-hearted regardless of their terrible situation. She frowned as she stood, her legs shaking beneath her as she glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were still alone before extending a hand to Harry to help him off the ground. "It's just a matter of how many."

It took a moment and an extremely pained expression from Harry for him to upright himself with Hermione's help. Then she carefully stepped up beside him and slung his arm over her shoulder before starting the slow process of moving toward a large bush at the edge of the apothecary property. They needed to leave now, like right now – but to do that, she needed to mend Harry's ribs. Otherwise, they would puncture his lung while they apparated, and to heal his ribs, she needed to make sure her brain wasn't riding the puke train express that they had just been on inside the apothecary. Harry vanished their steps as they moved, and a full half a minute later, she tucked them into the side of the bush against the fence and out of the wind. Harry leaned gratefully against the wooden surface and waited while Hermione rooted around in her bag and pulled out two small bottles of pepperup potion – handing one to Harry to drink.

"Drink this." She nodded to the potion that she held out. "It should help get your head back on your shoulders straight, and we should be focused enough to be able to apparate out of here after I fix your ribs."

"Gladly," Harry groaned as he clutched his stomach and grimaced at the nausea which had overcome him from their movements.

They both downed the liquid and stood silently in the cold, waiting for the effects to take hold. It didn't take long before Hermione could feel the warmth radiating from her stomach into her bones to push the cold out. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, feeling the dizziness within her head subside. When she opened them, Harry was starting to look better too. He was still hunched over from the broken ribs, but his ghastly expression had lessened.

"Okay, let's get you patched up and then get the hell out of here," Hermione whispered as she took her wand from Harry and cast a quick diagnostic spell. "I don't fancy being hunted down, which will probably start any second now and – oh, Harry. Dammit, you broke four – some of them twice."

Hermione grimaced as she placed a gentle hand on Harry's side to hold him steady while she aimed her wand.

"The good news is that your internal organs are okay. This might sting a bit." Hermione cast the spell and saw Harry grimace as his ribs realigned and mended. "You're going to be sore for the next few days."

"That's fine, but what about you?" Harry reached for the wand and cast his own diagnostic spell on Hermione, pausing only for a brief second when he heard the sound of multiple voices at the front of the house.

"Harry, we're running out of time. We need to go," Hermione whispered urgently as she heard footsteps approaching from over her shoulder. She could just make out the voice of the apothecary man speaking.

"Not until I know that you're not going to kill yourself apparating us away," Harry said firmly as he quickly skimmed his eyes over the results looking for anything life-threatening.

"What the fuck is going on, Peter!" A deep gruff voice called from the front of the house.

Hermione recognized it as one of the men they had seen talking on the street earlier.

"Okay, you're good, let's go." Harry nodded as he finished his examination.

Hermione ripped the invisibility cloak off of them and stuffed it into her purse as she heard the voices and the sound of snow crunching growing louder in the side yard. She heard a growl directly behind her the moment she felt Harry's hand on the back of her neck. Turning her head, she only managed a brief glimpse at the outline of four people and a creature rounding the corner of the house before Harry apparated them away into the night.

-x-x-

“Harry!”

Harry looked up from the book he was reading over to the potions lab, where Hermione was waving him over excitedly. The tent was warm despite the absolute sub-zero temperatures of the Northern coast of Scotland, where they were currently hiding out. Hermione had adjusted the potion lab barrier to allow more heat into the main tent area, without the fumes, to help battle the frigid cold. 

Why waste the free heat? She had exclaimed excitedly when she made the modifications to the barriers the day before. 

It had been three days since their trip to Ottery St. Catchpole and their break-in disaster at the apothecary. Hermione was now brewing up a storm, making as many potions as she could with the ingredients they had collected. She was standing in the potions lab wearing small black stretchy shorts and a loose, skimpy black tank top similar to her last potion-making outfit. The oversized armholes of her shirt showed the blue bra she had on at the sides, and it also acted as ventilation for the ridiculous heat in the room she was working. Her hair was piled on top of her head with four clips, and a deep purple bruise covered the back of her right shoulder and upper back.

It looked similar to the bruises that Harry was sporting on his lower back and upper left shoulder. The fall out the apothecary window may not have been deadly, but it had left them extremely sore, swollen, and bruised. They'd been coating themselves with thin layers of bruise salve, but neither one of them wanted to waste too much of their hard-earned supplies. So, they opted to let the injuries heal naturally. It was a bit risky given how unlucky they usually were, but by hiding out in the most unbearable weather conditions on the island, they were able to avoid running into any uninvited guests. It gave them time to brew more potions in peace while they healed, and it gave them a chance to relax for a day – or an hour, or literally whatever life would spare them.

Harry hauled himself off his bunk with a groan and made his way over to the potions lab, removing his sweater before he entered the magically encased area. He had gone in there yesterday wearing his sweater, and that had been a definite mistake. It was like a humid tropical forest, and the intense heat and fumes had made him feel sick. 

Not today potions lab, he thought with a smirk as he walked through the barrier sans shirt. I've planned ahead, and I will defeat you.

"What is it?" He asked as he crossed the invisible barrier and stepped into their private little amazon rainforest. The hanging dried ingredients and leaves really set the vibe.

"We have contact," Hermione was positively beaming as she held up her journal for Harry to see.

Harry's eyes widened as he saw the jumbled characters inscribed on her journal page, and he laughed in disbelief as more started to appear.

"You charmed it, so it works in real-time," Harry said, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head in amusement. "Of course you did."

Hermione grinned proudly at him and placed the book back on the counter, shuffling over so Harry could come and stand next to her.

"I sure did! He is literally writing to us right now! Harry, I can't believe this worked – I – with everything that's happened – I thought surely something would – I just can't, I–" Hermione stopped talking and gripped the edge of the lab table tightly.

"Hey," Harry said softly as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into his side. He could see that she was fighting back tears. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes were glassy, and she was clearly feeling overwhelmed.

Frankly, Harry would be lying if he said that he didn't feel it too. The tightness in his chest wasn't just from the bruising, and the slight prickle at the corner of his eyes made his throat tighten as he thought about everything that had happened thus far. After everything, it felt unreal to be seeing letters from a friend appear on a page or to accept that this endeavour had truly worked. He leaned down and kissed Hermione's temple before nuzzling his face into the nest of hair she had piled on her head. He could feel her shoulders quiver as the sound of a small sniffle left her body. 

"I'm sorry – I'm being stupid," Hermione mumbled as she wiped her eyes across the back of her hands. "It's just that we've been out here alone for months, and with everything that had happened – Harry, we've not been so lucky."

"That's putting it lightly," Harry snorted as a chuckle escaped him. He pulled away so he could see her face and wiped a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. "You're not being stupid, Hermione. I know exactly how you feel. It's overwhelming to finally be in touch with someone; it feels like a big step in the right direction to getting through all this."

"Yeah." Hermione nodded with a small smile before picking up her journal once more and looking at the inscription. "It looks like he's done – I told him to sign each transmission at the bottom with a symbol so I would know when he's finished writing; that way, we don't cut each other off. He's used it here, see? I'll decode this, and we can see what he wrote."

Harry nodded, waiting patiently while Hermione grabbed her coin and quickly skimmed through the note from Mr. Weasley. He watched as she topped the journal with her wand and temporarily enchanted the message to be visible in its decoded form. He knew the spell would only last for a few minutes before returning to its original state, so they both leaned over the page in her journal and read:

~

Hermione, you are brilliant! 

I'm sorry for such an informal start to our first communication in months, but my gosh, I had to write it! Sometimes I forget just how clever you are, and then something like this happens, and I'm left speechless and in awe by your consistent ability to blow my mind. Well done, my dear girl, well done!

Now on to a proper format…

Dear Hermione and Harry,

I am so glad to know that you two are safe and alive! Please know that you have been in my and Molly's thoughts every day since the day that you left the Burrow, and that we worry about you constantly (so do the other Order members and the rest of the family!). I know that you cannot tell me what you are up to, and I respect that, but if there is ever anything that I can do to help you in your mission, then please do not hesitate to let me know, and I will do everything that I can! 

Perhaps it is too presumptuous of me to think it but judging by the level of effort you extended to establish this line of communication, there must be something that you need or require; or you have critical information that must be shared. Just let me know what it is, and Molly and I will support you!

I must also be honest that I am a bit concerned for your wellbeing – there was a break-in this past week at the apothecary in Ottery St. Catchpole. The man that owns and operates the business is named Peter; he is a friend to me and the Order. He informed me of the goods that you took and that he thought it might be you. There is no need to worry – Peter is a good man, and he and I are working to cover up any fallout from the break-in. But I have to ask, are you two okay? Many of the ingredients that you took are for medicinal potions, specifically for blood loss and healing wounds. Both Molly and I are concerned with the sheer quantities that you took. Have you been injured? Is there anything we can do to help?

While Molly knows about the potion ingredients that were stolen (it's a long story, but there was no way around that), I have yet to tell her about this journal. As it was addressed and entrusted directly to me, I have kept this new means of communication secret. I understand the importance of limiting knowledge for the sake of safety, and therefore, I will continue to do so unless you tell me otherwise.

Now, I know that this must be a sore topic for you both, and frankly, I considered not bringing it up – but I figure that there is no reason to dance around the topic as a centaur would. While sometimes finesse and delicate words are useful on touchy topics, in this case, I think a direct approach is best. I hope you both know that I consider you members of the Weasley family, that you both always have my continued support, and therefore I feel we can speak candidly. There is no easy way to say this, so I would just rather get it out of the way – to rip the band-aid off as the muggles would say!

I am so sorry on behalf of my son. 

When Molly and I found out that Ron had left you two, we honestly did not know what to think, and Ron faced some harsh criticism from the two of us. He never told us why he left, but he is ashamed and regretful of his actions. To this day, I do not know what happened between you three, and I want to assure you that Ron has refused to speak about what you are doing, so your secret mission is still safe. To say that both Molly and I were disappointed in him and his actions would be an understatement – and it fueled the fire of what I think might be the most eventful Weasley family Christmas that has ever occurred. 

Please do not mistake my breaching the subject as a plea for you to forgive my son or excuse his behaviour. I wasn't there to witness what happened, and even if I was – it is not my place to request that you forgive him or accept his apology. Instead, the reason I wanted to bring this up is that I want you both to know that you are so loved. That regardless of whatever happened between you and Ron, and regardless of whatever will happen between you – Harry, Hermione – you both will always have a place within our family and a seat at our table.

With love,

Arthur Weasley

~

This time, Hermione could not keep her emotions reigned in, and Harry heard a muffled choke burst from her lips before she clapped a hand over her mouth. Harry instinctively pulled her into his arms and let her bury her face into his bare chest as she sobbed. Mr. Weasley had done what they both had been dreading – he had brought up the topic of Ron.

Harry had discussed it with Hermione the other day while they waited for the weekend to approach. They both adored Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Harry loved them, they had all but adopted him into the family, and they acted like the parents he had never had. He knew that Hermione had a close bond with them as well – and that after she obliviated her own parents, she had come to rely on them as parental figures even more. They truly wanted to believe that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were logical people who would, at the very least, try to understand what happened between Ron and them instead of blindly supporting their son and blaming his actions on them.

The trouble was, especially in the wizarding world, blood tended to be thicker than water. Harry had no idea what Ron might have said when he inevitably returned home. He didn't know if Ron threw him and Hermione under the bus or lied about what had happened. As a result, he didn't know how Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would take the news of Ron's return.

It had been plaguing the back of Harry's mind for the last three days, and he knew that it was eating away at Hermione. They were worried. Worried about being rejected from the only remnants of a family they had left and worried that they'd lost their home within this mess of a war. Of course they knew that the Weasley family would still help them if it was needed. The Weasleys stood firmly on the side of the light and against blood prejudice, so their support in the war efforts was never questioned. But what they didn't know was how their relationship with Ron would affect their personal relationships with the rest of the family.

Holy shit did Mr. Weasley ever dispel that concern, Harry thought as he buried his face in Hermione's hair and felt his chest tighten. 

The unconditional love that Mr. Weasley had poured into that letter made his soul ache. It hurt. It hurt somewhere so deep down and so fundamental that it made his heart feel like it was exploding into a million pieces from being overwhelmed. After losing Sirius, after losing Dumbledore, and the devastating crack in his relationship with Ron – Harry really didn't have many people left. The Weasleys were the only family he had outside of Hermione, and he was so relieved that he wasn't going to lose them over a stupid feud with an idiot who chose his own comfort and safety over doing the right thing. 

Mr. Weasley is a great man, Harry thought as she closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief.

He stood holding Hermione for several minutes until they both calmed down and composed themselves enough to reread the letter and discuss a response. He kissed Hermione gently before she started her reply, stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb and resting his forehead against hers. He felt like he could breathe freely again – despite the heaviness in his bruised lungs.

"Hermione," Harry said softly as he pulled away from her and brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. His heart felt like it was exploding with happiness and love. "Thank you for being here with me. Thank you for being so bloody brilliant all the time."

Hermione grinned at him and kissed him once before she picked up her quill to reply to Mr. Weasley.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be Harry," she said as she dipped her quill in ink.

~

Dear Mr. Weasley,

I am very glad to see that you not only got your magazine but that you also found my note and were able to follow the instructions. I knew that you would understand the use of a cypher! 

You're too kind with your praise, the charm work to set-up the magazine was rather simple actually, and I think that's part of why it will work so well! 

You are correct in assuming that we do require your help, and that is indeed why we travelled to Ottery St. Catchpole to modify your magazine and set up this line of communication. I want to first assure you that both Harry and I are fine. I won't lie to you; we have had some unfortunate mishaps along the way that resulted in some rough times. However, at the current moment, we are both healthy and uninjured (besides some minor bruises from the apothecary break-in and escape). Please be reassured that we are safe and that there is no need to worry!

We stopped at the apothecary to restock several ingredients that we need to finish making several medicinal potions. As I mentioned, we've had a few run-ins with trouble, and we've found that having extra stock of some basic healing potions is helpful to ensure our success. Unfortunately, due to the… unusual nature of Peter's alarms, I must admit that I was a bit disoriented while gathering the ingredients and that I definitely grabbed more than what I had planned. That said, with how our luck has been, I'm glad to have it and be prepared for the worst. 

If you get the opportunity, please apologize to Peter on my and Harry's behalf. We did not know who owned the apothecary or that they were working with you and the Order. 

We believe it is best to try and limit the involvement of anyone else in our mission. Not only for their safety but for ours, so we have been trying to keep a low profile during our supply gathering. It was never our intent to cause such a ruckus at his store, and it was certainly not our intent to leave you and Peter (an ally) to clean up the fallout. For that, we would like to sincerely apologize – I hope that the situation is not too bad? Also, if I was short on the money that I left for the ingredients, please tell Peter to keep track of what I owe him. I will pay him back when this is all over and apologize to him in person.

But back to the reason why we set up this line of communication. I was hoping that you still have a copy of or still have access to the antivenom recipe for Nagini's poison. Please don't worry when you read this! Neither Harry nor I were bitten or infected, we are both completely safe, and there is no need to worry. I would, however, like to brew a batch of the antivenom to have on hand - just in case - and getting into St. Mungo's to get the recipe was simply out of the question. While I have no real evidence to support my suspicion, I'm concerned that St. Mungo's may be compromised, and I suspect that it is being watched by You Know Who's followers, so we couldn't risk breaking in. Would you be able to give us a copy of the antivenom recipe?

I appreciate your understanding of the importance of keeping information secure and with limited distribution. At this time, Harry and I would ask that you continue to keep this line of communication secret and that you do not disclose it to anyone else. It is not because Harry or myself do not trust the members of the Order. It's just that Harry and I have been having a difficult time keeping a low profile and accomplishing what we must. The fewer people who know anything about our actions or whereabouts, the better. When this is all over, we promise to explain everything – and it will make sense at the end. Until then, we appreciate that you've kept this secret to help keep us safe.

I don't have the words to describe how we felt after reading your letter. Mr. Weasley, for the past seven years, you have been like a second father to me, and you have been the father figure to Harry that he never got the opportunity to have. It means more than words could ever describe that you would continue to support and welcome us into your family. Please know that Harry and I love you and Molly and all of the Weasley family dearly – and that we view you as our family. It means the world to me that you would still welcome us into your home despite what has transpired, and I'm thankful that Ron has kept his word and kept our mission a secret. 

While our resources and abilities are limited with the position that we are in while completing this mission, please know that your extension of help is not only appreciated, it is reciprocated. If there is anything that you need from us, please let us know, and we will try to do everything that we can to help.

With lots of love,

Hermione and Harry

~

Hermione signed the note with the symbol indicating that her message was complete before smiling at Harry and returning to prep more ingredients. As she worked, Harry made them a late lunch, and they both took a short break to eat in comfortable silence. They were simply too emotionally and physically exhausted to talk, and so they quietly enjoyed the odd sort of peace that settled over the tent instead. 

They had camped on top of a cliff where a blizzard raged violently outside, the wind screamed as it rattled the magically secure tent frame – but inside, the fire crackled warmly, the mood was light and free, and the two of them felt safe.

Harry went back to sitting on his bunk after cleaning up the lunch dishes, reading his defensive magic book while waiting for Mr. Weasley to respond. Hermione had just finished prepping the last of the ingredients she needed before starting her next potion when the coded ink in her journal from Mr. Weasley appeared. It took several more minutes for Mr. Weasley to finish writing his response, and Hermione couldn't help but anxiously fiddle with the coin in her hand as she waited. When Mr. Weasley finally coded the note as complete, Hermione hastily grabbed her wand and began to decode the text, smiling as she read until her eyebrow arched up.

"Harry," she said as she approached his bunk, holding the journal in her hands. "Do you have any thoughts on where we might find a large bulldog between two and a half and three years old whose last meal was chicken?"

"Uhh." Harry raised a confused eyebrow. It was certainly not the question he had been expecting to hear when Hermione approached him. "My Aunt Marge breeds bulldogs… it's possible she could have one?"

"Good," Hermione said with a surprised smile. She had not been expecting him to actually have a response and was thinking they may need to scour the pet stores of the muggle world. "Because we need eight ounces of its drool for the antivenom."

Warnings:

This chapter contains: explicit smut (which can be skipped without missing out on main plot)

******************************************

“Ginny?”

A gentle hand touched her leg and jolted her from her thoughts. She had been sitting quietly, consumed by the endless ramblings of her mind as she stared out the window and rocked gently with the movements of the train as it sped farther away from Hogwarts and into the surrounding snow-covered hills. At the contact, her eyes snapped away from the endless white and locked to the bright honey-coloured ones that were looking at her with concern.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Ginny asked, giving her head a small shake and trying to clear out the worries that had flooded it.

“I asked if you were okay – if you still want to do this?” She wasn’t backing out, just giving Ginny a final opportunity to change her mind. “I can still arrange to go to my parents.”

“No.” Ginny shook her head quickly and then grabbed hold of the hand that was still on her leg. It wasn’t safe for her to go home to her parents; they both knew that. Her family was targeted, and frankly, it was a miracle that her parents hadn’t been killed yet – almost all the rest of her family was slaughtered by Voldemort, her aunt being the most recent member added to the list. The Burrow was safer. “I’ve already told mum that you’d be joining us. They’re expecting you, and I want you to be there.”

“Alright,” a small smile formed on her lips as she squeezed Ginny’s hand in return. “But don’t feel pressured to say anything you don’t want to. I understand, Ginny. Your parents, your family – they don’t know yet. And you don’t have to tell them. I can just be a guest, just – a friend.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Susan,” Ginny said as she twisted her body and leaned into the girl’s side. Closing her eyes briefly, she let out a deep sigh. “You are my guest and my friend. But – you’re also my girlfriend, and I want my family to know that. If they don’t like it… well – then that’s their problem to deal with, not mine and certainly not yours.”

“Okay,” Susan agreed, nodding her head. She slid her arm around Ginny and leaned her head against her fiery red hair. “But we do it on your terms when you want to and the way you want to. So just take your time with it and do what you think is best. I’ll be there with you – right beside you the whole time.”

“I know.” Ginny tilted her face to kiss Susan’s jaw then nuzzled her head back into the side of her soft sweater.

The train was warm despite the frigid cold that had started to frost up the windows, so they had ditched their cloaks the second they boarded, piling them up on the opposite seat and storing their small travel bags on the racks above. Even though most students were returning home for the winter break, the train felt empty – likely because a lot of students didn’t return to school that September. With Snape as the Headmaster, Dumbledore dead, and Voldemort and his followers rising in power, many wizarding families didn’t feel safe sending their kids back to school and had kept them home.

Smart move , Ginny snorted inwardly as she thought back to the Carrows who were in charge of student discipline, teaching muggle studies, and acted as the Deputy Headmasters. Which was just a fancy way of saying that they harassed, tortured, and terrorized the students of families who did not outright support Voldemort and taught that muggles were scum that deserved punishment, as a minimum, and death when and where possible.

They were the reason that the train was late leaving Hogwarts and why Ginny and Susan would not be arriving at King’s Cross station until well after 11 pm that night. The Carrows had insisted on searching several school bags, holding up the boarding students and trying to drag a few of them off to be questioned in the dungeons prior to departure. Professor McGonagall, who had been on the platform attempting to keep things calm, had lost her temper and pitched a fit. She had yelled at the Carrows, demanding that they stop their dimwitted nonsense and allow the students to leave. Wands had been drawn, the air had grown tense, and it had almost turned into a full-on battle until Snape suddenly appeared on the platform between them with a gust of wind.

In an instant, the platform fell silent, each student frozen in terror as the man who killed Dumbledore stood like death before them. A dark shadow against the white snow, they were unable to look away as their breaths hitched in their chests, and they waited to see what would happen. Even the Carrows had frozen on spot. The suitcase in Alecto’s hands fell open, and the contents spilled to the ground while her brother, Amycus, gripped Dennis Creevy tightly by the upper arm – his wand still pointed at Professor McGonagall. 

Both of them had watched Snape carefully. As stupid as they were, they weren’t complete imbeciles. The man who towered before them had single-handedly killed one of the greatest wizards of all time, he was the right hand of the Dark Lord, and they knew that they didn’t stand a chance.

Snape’s eyes had danced around the platform, taking in the scene and assessing the situation quickly while showing absolutely no sign of emotion. Ginny couldn’t stop the involuntary flinch she felt when his dead eyes swept over her before circling back to the Carrows.

“I would think that you would realize how idiotic it is to search the students upon their departure,” Snape had said, his voice low and slow, emphasizing every syllable as he spoke. “Especially given the number of students who you’ve now left unattended within the school.”

The Carrows had flinched at his words. Ginny had been able to see the fear and embarrassment that flashed across their eyes when they realized that Snape was right – they had just voluntarily left students free to do as they pleased back up at the castle while they harassed those leaving for the holidays.

“I don’t care what they take from the school.” Snape’s words were deadly as he started to close the gap between him and the Carrows. “I care what they bring back. Perhaps your time would be better spent planning a search for their return.”

With his final step toward Amycus, Snape reached out his hand and grabbed Dennis by the back of his neck, turning swiftly on his heel and throwing the boy onto the train much less than gently. Professor McGonagall’s mouth had opened wide at the action, her eye twitching as if to challenge Snape right then and there on the platform for manhandling a student. But a single deadly look from the bat of the dungeon had her freeze on spot and lock her jaw shut. He glared back at the Carrows, his imposing frame causing Alecto to drop the already opened suitcase on the platform and grip the side of her robes tightly while Amycus pocketed his wand.

“Yes, sir – you’re right, sir.” Amycus nodded with a slight incline of his head before grabbing his sister’s arm and turning toward the castle. “We will prepare a plan right away to present to you – and check the castle for wandering students, sir.”

As they walked quickly toward the castle, no doubt already planning how to scrutinize the students upon their return and ensure that their favourites were found guilty of something – Snape turned once more to face Professor McGonagall, his face blank but chilling.

“Professor – please see to it that the students get on the train in a timely manner. I have more important things to do than babysit dunderheads who can’t complete a simple task.”

With that, Snape turned on his heel and vanished from the platform, his robes billowing out behind him as the students remained silent. Ginny didn’t miss the brief but sharp glare he threw her way before he vanished, and she smirked, knowing full well that the more important things he had to deal with were the multiple stink bombs that she and Neville had left timed to blow up in his office corridor.

Professor McGonagall regained her senses promptly and shooed them all onto the train – evidently wanting to get back to the castle and check on the remaining students before the Carrows caused more trouble. Normally, Ginny would be as fearful as McGonagall for her fellow students, but she knew that the majority of those staying over the break were allied with the Carrows and the few remaining who weren’t would be hiding out safe in the Gryffindor common room. The Carrows wouldn’t find a single soul out of bed when they returned.

Typically, she would expect Professor McGonagall to be sharp enough to figure that out, but Ginny knew that McGonagall was at the end of her wits. The multiple stress lines on the woman’s face were a testament to that. Between the Carrows, Snape, caring for the students, trying to protect the students, the Ministry breathing down her back, and the overarching war that was ongoing outside of school, McGonagall was ready to have a meltdown. Ginny hoped that she found some sort of peace over the holidays. The students needed her at her best day in and day out to help keep their sanity, but she wasn’t sure how much more their professor could take.

Ginny and Colin had boarded the train quickly to see if Dennis was alright while Susan retrieved his suitcase from the ground. Thankfully, he was largely unhurt aside from minor bruises, which was nothing compared to what he would have gotten had he been dragged to the dungeon by the Carrows. Ginny had had several run-ins with the Carrows herself over the last few months, and she had the scars to prove it. She wasn’t an idiot; she knew that the only reason why she didn’t get it worse than she did was because she was a pureblood, and the Carrows had been ordered not to harm purebloods ‘permanently’. Though they certainly had no issues coming after her frequently, which was easy for them to do given the commotion that Ginny had been creating since her return in September. Unfortunately, this meant that the people who had been following her lead now bore the same scars. At least this time, Dennis escaped without further torture.

It was never Ginny’s intent when she returned to school to reinstate Dumbledore’s Army or to have others help her in her efforts to disrupt the school, fight in the war, and help Harry, Hermione, and Ron in whatever way she could. She had been positively shocked when Neville, of all people, within the first week of school no less, had sought her out and asked her what the plan was. Within three weeks, he had become her right-hand man and was instrumental in the rebellion efforts. And while the consequences of their actions weighed heavily on her mind, as she often felt responsible for the injuries sustained by her friends, she couldn’t lie – she needed their help. They were all instrumental in being successful.

Under the layer of guilt that circled her mind, she knew that each member of Dumbledore’s Army had returned and stepped up to the plate at their own volition. For some in the wizarding community, Dumbledore’s death had been an excuse to become meek, to hide and to give up – to justify their inaction and cowardice because ‘if a great and powerful man like Dumbledore could fail how could they succeed?’ But for others, most notably Neville, Susan, and Luna, it had been a reason to stand up and fight even harder. 

Ginny had been surprised further when within a few weeks, Colin, Dennis, Hannah, and Seamus had offered their support. And after only a month and a half at school, she had been positively shocked when Lavender Brown and the Patil twins freely offered their assistance. They wanted to fight, they wanted to help, they were willing to accept the consequences, and they did so, each and every time without complaint.

Ginny was once again pulled from her thoughts by a soft knock on the compartment door. She knew that it was Neville even with the window blind pulled down because they had made several coded knocks and words to use for communication at school. During the remainder of the summer at the Burrow after the wedding, Ginny had read a book that Hermione left her about muggle codes, which proved to be inspiring and useful. Now many of the DA members used codes and secret words to convey information when talking since you could never guarantee you were alone at Hogwarts.

“Yes, come in,” Susan called as Ginny sat up, and they both looked toward the door expectantly.

“Hey Susan, Ginny – sorry to bother you, I just wanted to let you know that Lavender can get us some more of that salve over the break. She said her grandmother was working on making several batches.” Neville closed the door behind him before he spoke and sat down opposite to them in the compartment. “We just have to find a creative way to sneak it in.”

“Great!” Ginny smiled as she gipped Susan’s hand in happiness. “I’m sure we can come up with something. We should probably ask Luna – she’s usually pretty creative with these things.”

They had been using medical salves that Lavender’s grandmother had been providing to treat some of the wounds they accumulated from the Carrows and from their own DA missions. While Madame Pomfrey was doing her best to treat the students at the school, she was technically not allowed to treat any injuries that resulted from their punishments, because otherwise ‘how would the students learn?’ 

Obviously, Madam Pomfrey didn’t give a murtlap’s ass what the Carrows said, and she promptly refused to listen to that rule and treated the students. But it made it easier and prosed less risk to Madam Pomfrey’s wellbeing if they kept a minimal supply of healing salve and potions hidden in the main Gryffindor common room.

Neville had been the first person at school to learn that Ginny and Susan were a couple. He had accidentally stumbled in on them while they were snogging in the Gryffindor common room in the middle of the night after everyone else had gone to bed. Something that they never did again after that because it was simply too risky. At the time, Ginny had been horrified, unable to speak and unsure of what to say. The confusion on Neville’s face was obvious as his eyes flicked between the two of them, unsure why Susan was even in their common room while he tried to decide if he had seen what he thought he had. It could have been a trick of the low firelight. As far as everyone at school was concerned, Ginny was still dating Harry Potter, so Neville had struggled to wrap his head around what was happening. After several moments of awkward silence, Susan sighed and stepped up to clear the air and squash out the building tension.

“Neville, Ginny and I are dating. She and Harry mutually broke up months ago – he knows – but we haven’t told anyone else yet. With everything going on, it seemed like a bad time. So we’re going to tell everyone later. We would appreciate your discretion until that time comes.” Susan paused, allowing the information to sink in before arching an eyebrow at him in challenge. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No,” Neville had sputtered, briefly reverting back to his old self – a far stretch from the confident, well-spoken, and capable wizard he had become since Dumbledore’s death. “No, no – not at all! I just – I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I - I didn’t know about you and Harry, Ginny. I didn’t want to assume anything, I just – no, I have no problem with it.”

Then a huge grin had split across his face, and he almost wiggled on the spot with excitement.

“I am so happy for you two – I promise I won’t say a word,” he said seriously, evidently understanding their situation and why they chose to hide it.

The words had practically made Ginny’s heart burst. After coming to terms with her own sexuality after breaking up with Harry and rebuilding her self-confidence throughout the summer, Ginny was confident in herself. She wasn’t hiding her relationship because she was ashamed or embarrassed. She kept it a secret simply because there was enough shit going on in the world, and they didn’t need to cause any more drama. Susan not only supported her opinion, but she also seconded it. While Susan’s parents knew that she was gay and openly supported her – Ginny had yet to tell her own family, and the last thing she wanted was for her mum to find out through a third party.

Couple that with the fact that the Carrows were sadistic and cruel, often using their emotions and friendships against them, it was an obvious approach to take. After what happened to Maisey, her dorm mate, Ginny and Susan had absolutely no desire to announce their relationship to the school, and they were glad that Neville unquestioningly agreed to keep this quiet. Maisey had been the first one to be forced to attack her boyfriend as punishment – but she wasn’t the last. The Carrows would force students to cast the Cruciatus curse on each other, specifically at first years and people that they cared about – and if they refused, the Carrows would simply use the Imperius curse to make it happen.

Since then, everyone at Hogwarts, even those not part of the rebellion, kept their relationships and friendships as secret as possible. It was harder for the siblings, Colin and Dennis being prime examples since that wasn’t something you could hide - but they did what they could.

They both knew that Luna undoubtably knew about their relationship, and they suspected that Colin, Hannah, and the Patil twins had figured it out too. But none of them were stupid enough to ask for confirmation, and Ginny and Susan weren’t dumb enough to tell them. Plausible deniability was everything during war, especially when veritaserum might be involved. But based on their unwavering loyalty to Ginny and DA - they were confident that their unconfirmed relationship had been accepted by their peers and that no one had questioned Ginny’s loyalty to Harry.

A second knock on the compartment door indicated that Luna and Hannah were there. Ginny and Susan shuffled again, unlatching their hands and leaving a few inches of space between them before they opened the door and allowed their friends inside. As much as Ginny wanted to sit quietly and undisturbed with Susan and enjoy the train ride, she did appreciate the interruption and the conversation that ensued. She was a nervous wreck. While she meant what she said to Susan – that she didn’t care what her family thought about their relationship - it didn’t make the idea of announcing it any easier, and the group conversation helped ease her mind.

Ginny settled comfortably into the discussion, talking about DA’s next moves and smiling at the group as they tried to stay positive and enjoy their small freedom away from school. She grinned at Hannah, who grinned widely at her in return as she handed out chocolate frogs to the group for a snack.

-x-x-

By the time the train pulled into King’s Cross station, it was 11:30 at night, and the compartment was exploding with bodies. Hannah had fallen asleep on top of the coat pile in the corner of their compartment. Neville was talking animatedly with Lavender, who had joined them at some point, and Susan was discussing ideas with Luna about smuggling in the salve. Colin and Dennis had also squished their way in with Seamus, sitting next to Ginny and talking about seeing their families again. Parvati, who had popped in to wish everyone a Merry Christmas about an hour before the train arrived, was now seated on top of Hannah’s feet on the floor with her back resting against the outer wall – eating her chocolate frogs as she talked quietly with her sister, who had stood like a sardine against the closed compartment door. Ginny was wedged tightly between Colin and Susan and partaking in several different conversations.

Eleven people were far too many to have squished in one compartment, and it obliterated any chance of being comfortable for the ride. Ginny had to cast cooling charms every so often so they wouldn’t need to remove their clothes or end up passed out from heat exhaustion – but she wouldn’t have had it any other way. These people had become her family. They were a team. They depended on each other. They supported each other and had set aside any inner animosity to do their part in the war. Being with them, with Susan at her side, made her feel safe and confident. 

“Merry Christmas!” Ginny waved as she lugged her small suitcase off the top rack with her opposite hand. She and Susan had waited for the rest of the crew to exit the compartment before attempting to gather their belongings and depart.

“Bye!” Hannah smiled as she turned to leave last, and the other goodbyes could be heard throughout the corridor.

“Be safe!” Colin waved as he held his brother’s shoulder gently and steered him off the train.

“See you guys soon!” The Patil twins called behind them.

“Floo me if you can!” Lavender called out after them.

“Seamus don’t blow anything up!” Dennis yelled back the corridor as Colin steered him along.

“Oi, fuck you!” Seamus yelled, unable to do anything else since he was stuck behind the crowd.

“Take care, Neville,” Susan said with a gentle squeeze of his arm.

“You too. Remember, if you need anything, let me know.” Neville smiled at the two girls before heading to the platform.

“Make sure you de-nargle your mistletoe,” Luna said airily as she departed the train next.

Ginny sighed, smiling at Susan before closing her eyes and heaving in a massive breath of the cold winter air that filled the platform. It was good to be able to breathe freely again. When her shoulders had finally relaxed, she opened her eyes and started making her way down the platform, scanning the faces for someone in her family – unsure who would be picking them up.

“Ginny!” She heard her father call from the crowd before she spotted him. Catching a glimpse of his raised hand, she smiled back at Susan, and they quickly made their way over.

“Hi dad!” Ginny grinned as he hugged her tightly and then turned to give Susan a traditional Weasley bear hug.

“You must be Susan!” Arthur said with a grin as he released her and then took both of the girl’s bags. “It’s so nice to meet you – Molly and I are happy to have you join us this Christmas.”

If nothing else , Ginny thought as she smiled at the blush on Susan’s cheeks from the warm welcome she had received. Dad will support me.

Her father, ever the happy and welcoming man, had never let her down. He had always supported her, always believed in her, and always welcomed everyone into their home without hesitation. While her mother was also incredibly welcoming, warm-hearted, and a typical mother hen, she could sometimes get worked up and temperamental. Due to their similar hot-headed personalities, Ginny often butted heads with her mother. Her dad, on the other hand, she always got along with. He was the calm and gentle force that held the family together.

They made their way off the crowded platform, through the familiar barricade, and out past the parking lot toward a safe apparition zone with several other people. While some wizards dared to apparate directly onto the platform – usually this was the stuck-up, pompous, pureblood families like the Malfoys who were completely uncaring if their actions hurt others – most didn’t. It was just too dangerous and a nightmare to do successfully. Countless times over the years, wizards had been injured attempting it. They would accidentally apparate on top of others or leave partial suitcases behind. They would splinch themselves while attempting to apparate out of the crowded and busy platform and then require emergency healers to repair the damage. Hence, the creation of a safe apparition space located just outside the station and why wizards got there numerous other ways.

“Alright gang,” Arthur said enthusiastically as they reached the safe wards and stepped inside. “I figure apparating is best today given the late time – you’ll each need to hold your own suitcases tightly, though.”

Ginny took her suitcase back in hand and tried to calm the worry she felt in her heart as she looked at her dad. Despite his enthusiastic personality, she could tell that he looked tired, and she knew that he was doing his best to remain his cheerful old self. Susan shot her a comforting smile before they each took one of his outstretched hands and got ready to travel.

“Alright,” Arthur said, standing straight and smiling down at them both. “On the count of three. One, two, three-”

With a pop they disapparated into the cold winter night. Ginny grimaced at the awful feeling of being pushed through a very small tube and then stumbled when they appeared outside the wards of the Burrow. Susan grabbed her arm quickly to prevent her from falling over and bent at the waist, gripping her own stomach with a laugh.

“I always forget just how awful that feels,” she said, looking up at Arthur. “Thank you for doing the apparition. I’m always hesitant to do it myself after what happened the first time.”

“Of course my dear!” Arthur said brightly as he took both suitcases from the girls once more, and they started their way up to the house, passing through the wards and enchantments with each step. “What happened the first time you apparated?”

“Oh, you know – just left a leg behind.”

“You don’t say!” Arthur said excitedly as he looked toward Susan. “Well, that’s quite the story isn’t it – was it the whole leg?”

Ginny grinned widely at how comfortably Susan was talking to her dad. It felt like they were old pals catching up, and she bit back a laugh when Susan told the story of her first apparition lesson. He was a great audience, asking all the questions that his curious brain wanted to know – the ones that her mother would surely have swatted him for while saying something like ‘it’s impolite to ask how much leg someone left behind!’

When they got to the house, most of the lights were off. Ginny wasn’t sure just how many of her siblings would be joining them for the holidays, but if they were already there, they were sleeping. She knew that Ron was off with Harry and Hermione, and Percy definitely wouldn’t be coming – but Fred, George, Bill, and Charlie were bound to stop by at some point. Ginny grinned when her mother greeted Susan much like her father did, and she tried to hide the blush that dusted her face.

“You must be Susan!” Mrs. Weasley smiled, pulling Susan into a tight hug before ushering the girls inside. “We’re so happy to have you for the holiday! I wasn’t sure if you girls would be hungry, with the train being as late as it was – I’ve made you some hot chocolate and heated you some left-overs from dinner. Here – you two sit, and Arthur will bring your bags to your room. I thought that you could stay in the spare bunk that Hermione has used over the summer, Susan. I’ve changed the sheets and tidied everything up, so it’s all ready.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. That’s very kind of you,” Susan replied as she took a seat at the table next to Ginny.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all dear,” Mrs. Weasley smiled as her husband carried the bags to Ginny’s room and the girls started eating.

“Are Fred and George coming for Christmas?” Ginny asked as she tucked into her dinner. The chocolate frogs Hannah provided had worn off ages ago.

“Yes, they’ll be here Christmas Eve. I think they plan to stay through until boxing day.” Mrs. Weasley took a seat at the end of the table as Arthur reappeared. “Charlie said he’ll try to pop by on Christmas day, and Bill and Fleur will come and stay Christmas Eve as well.”

Ginny noticed a tightness in her mother’s jaw when she mentioned Bill and Fleur, but she chose not to comment on it. It was after midnight, she was exhausted, and she didn’t want to open that can of worms. She already knew that either her mum had become upset with Fleur, again, or perhaps she was still struggling with accepting that her older brother Percy was a douche and wouldn’t be coming home. Either way, all she wanted was to get to her room with Susan and go to sleep.

Once they had finished eating, Mrs. Weasley shooed them to bed, Ginny and Susan both gladly agreed and made their way down the short hall to Ginny’s room. Ginny could hear her mum and dad whispering quietly in the kitchen while they tidied up.

“So,” Susan said once the door was shut and Ginny had placed a silencing charm out of habit. “This is your room?”

A furious blush crossed Ginny’s face when she realized that she was standing in her childhood bedroom with her girlfriend – she’d been so bloody tired that the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind.

“Uh,” Ginny hesitated, quickly scanning her eyes around the room to make sure that there was nothing embarrassing lying about. If there was, she would blame it on Hermione, but thankfully her mum had tidied up and aside from some Holyhead Harpies posters, there wasn’t much laying about. “Yes – it’s not much but-”

“I love it,” Susan grinned, stepping toward Ginny and wrapping her arms around her waist.

Ginny flushed deeper, feeling the heat in her cheeks as her face turned a similar crimson as her hair. It had been ages since she and Susan were alone, and Ginny’s pulse was racing at the closeness between them. No matter how much time passed, her stomach still fluttered every time they touched. Grinning, Ginny leaned in and kissed Susan gently.

“Thank you for coming with me,” she breathed against her lips.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Susan whispered, nuzzling her nose against Ginny’s before the sound of Mrs. Weasley’s voice startled them apart.

“I know you’re tired girls, but don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

Ginny groaned and slapped her face with her hand as Susan laughed outright. Grabbing her wand off her bed, she removed the silencing charm to respond at the same time Susan did.

“Yes, mum!”

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley!”

Taking a breath to calm her nerves, Ginny opened her suitcase to pull out her pajamas and bathroom kit.

“Come on – I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

It crossed Ginny’s mind while she brushed her teeth that her mum would have an absolute hay day if she knew that Susan was staying in her room as her girlfriend. Similar to how Fleur had stayed in a separate room when she was visiting the Burrow last Christmas, partners were allowed to stay in the house, but her mum wouldn’t allow unmarried couples to canoodle under her roof. Susan was only staying in her room because she was a friend and because on Christmas day the house would be quite full. The only free room would be Percy’s since Charlie would likely use Ron’s.

If only they knew , she snorted at the thought. But having Susan stay in a different room would only arouse suspicion, and Ginny wasn’t ready to tell her parents yet. 

She wanted to tell her family once and only once. So, she was waiting until they all showed up so she could get it done and over with in one fell swoop. 

Besides , she thought as she quickly changed into her pajamas while Susan went to use the washroom. I wouldn’t mind having some actual time to be with my girlfriend before shit hits the fan.

Term hadn’t ended this year until December 18th, with exams extending over the weekend and the train home scheduled for Monday the 22nd. They’d be heading back to Hogwarts on Friday, January 2nd, only for term to start the following Monday. Based on what her mum had said, Christmas day would be the only day that everyone was there – which left her only tomorrow and Christmas Eve with Susan before she revealed their relationship to her family.

So Ginny was going to enjoy those two days to their fullest extent, knowing full well that for the remaining eight days of their vacation after Christmas, Susan would be staying in a different room, and her mum would be watching them closely. And that was assuming that everything went well and that her family accepted them. Worst case, they would be leaving the house and apparating to Susan’s parents, which was a risky move given the Death Eaters’ watch on her family. Susan and her parents had made arrangements with Neville and his grandmother so that if things got bad, they could evacuate their home and apparate to a safe place on the Longbottom estate – but everyone was hoping that it wouldn’t get to that point.

“Hey,” Susan said as she stepped back into the bedroom in her pajamas. Her strawberry blonde hair hung loose in a high ponytail, and she closed the distance between them as Ginny cast a silencing charm and locked the door.

“Hey,” Ginny smiled, pulling Susan toward her and relaxing in her hold.

“You still okay?”

“Yeah,” Ginny sighed, breathing in the wonderful scent of Susan’s face wash. “Tired, stressed, anxious, nervous – you know, the norm.”

Susan laughed and kissed her on the forehead.

“How tired are you?” Ginny asked, looking up into her girlfriend’s honey-coloured eyes and dimming the light with her wand.

“Tired,” Susan responded before giving her a mischievous grin. “But not that tired.”

Ginny bit her lip as her heart fluttered once more. She had heard her parents go to bed while she was in the bathroom, and with the lock on her bedroom door, no one would be walking in unannounced. The house was quiet, the world was sleeping, and they finally had a moment alone.

Ginny pulled Susan down onto her bed, capturing her lips as she moved and revelling at the sweet and minty taste of her mouth. It had been ages since they had done anything physical, aside from a brief kiss here and there. The last time they had been intimate was Halloween, and it had been quick because there wasn’t much time. Ginny moaned softly as Susan nibbled at her bottom lip and slid her hand under the edge of her oversized pajama shirt. Pulling Susan on top of her, Ginny opened her mouth and slid her tongue through her lips. 

She tasted like bliss, like pure heavenly bliss, and Ginny felt the coil at her core start to tighten. 

When they had first started dating at the start of the school term, Ginny was surprised to learn that despite Susan’s reserved and polite outward appearance, she was actually very carnal and strongly in favour of physical contact as a way of expressing her feelings. It worked well for Ginny, who had always been very outspoken, impatient, and perhaps a little brash with her regular vulgar words. Especially since Ginny was also someone who craved physical intimacy due to her own heightened sexual nature. It didn’t take long before they realized that they were two peas in a pod, and they began pushing past casual snogging if the opportunity struck. It was a huge leap from the letters they had penned back and forth throughout the summer or the causal touches they had the previous school year before it ended, but it was never even a thought between them that they might be moving too fast.

It’s been so fucking long , Ginny thought as Susan groaned and slid a leg between hers, pushing into her center and moving her hand to gently massage her breast. 

Their lips moved with practiced ease. Their movements quickened, and soon they were panting. Ginny’s hand was gripping Susan’s hip tightly, pushing down into the grinding motions she was making and pushing her own thigh up into Susan’s core.

“Shit – Susan,” Ginny groaned as Susan pushed her shirt up, exposing her chest and moved to suck her nipple – twirling her tongue around it and making Ginny’s back arch. “Merlin, you feel so good.”

“Mmmm,” Susan murmured against her chest before making her way up to suck on Ginny’s neck. “I love when you’re wound up.”

“You fucking wind me up, witch,” Ginny moaned as Susan brought her hand between her legs and rubbed the junction.

Unable to take the building pressure anymore, Ginny pushed back on Susan, forcing her to sit up and then lay down with her head at the foot of the bed.

“We need to – take – fucking pants – off,” Ginny struggled to make a coherent phrase as she grabbed the waist of Susan’s pajama pants and started to pull them down.

Susan grinned widely and lifted her hips, eager to assist and remove the barrier between them. She loved when Ginny was pent up and needed release – and she loved being the one to give it to her. Ginny quickly shucked off her own bottoms before moving to lower her head between Susan’s legs, one hand pressing down on Susan’s stomach.

“Oh – fuck, that feels good,” Susan moaned, her head lolling to her right as Ginny pushed her panties aside and slid her tongue over her already wet folds. Susan moved her hand between them and tangled her fingers in Ginny’s hair, pushing her hips up as Ginny continued to circle the little bud that was throbbing between her legs, each lick sending shivers down her spine.

“Ginny,” Susan’s voice was low and sultry. “I want you.”

Feeling the push against her head, Ginny let Susan lead her backward until her head was once again resting on her pillow. She removed her panties while Susan stripped off her own, then parted her legs as Susan crawled forward. They had only ever done this once before, and it had felt so good, Ginny came almost instantly. Which she had found somewhat surprising because apparently, not everyone did. She suspected tonight would be similar – they were both tired, pent up, and desperate for release. Susan climbed on top of her, aligning their centers before she lowered herself, rocking their cores against one another as she held Ginny’s leg in front of her.

“Oh – fuck Susan,” Ginny groaned, hands fisting her own hair as a tremble shook through her body. It was only the beginning of what was to come and somehow felt even better than the first time they had tried this, hidden behind the charmed curtains of Susan’s four-poster bed.

“You like that?” Susan asked teasingly as she rocked her hips.

Through hazed eyes, Ginny could see the faint flush across her girlfriend’s beautiful complexion as she moved above her. Sliding her hands from her hair, she gripped Susan’s hips tightly, pulling them down even closer.

“Yes, I fucking like that,” Ginny groaned as Susan began to pant with the motion. 

She had also been surprised to find out that Susan seemed to like talking dirty when they first became physical, but she had absolutely no complaints about it. Her body trembled again; she was so close. Seeing Susan in nothing but a baggy old T-shirt, the faint light glowing off her hair while she ground into her in her childhood bedroom was almost enough to send her over the edge alone. 

“Merlin,” Ginny panted. “You’re going to make me come.”

“Fuck, Ginny,” Susan moaned as Ginny pushed up into her once more. “I want you to come – I want you to come for me.”

She dropped her hand between them, using her fingers as Ginny started to squirm.

“Susan – fuuuuck, Susan, just like that – just like–“Ginny’s eyes clamped shut as the coil that had been building within her snapped, and a wave crashed over her, every muscle in her body tensing with her climax.

She felt Susan's hand slow as her orgasm receded, then Ginny shifted to bring her hand to Susan's center. Susan groaned. She moved her fingers quicker, gripping Susan's hip tight until she fell apart. Watching as she rode out the wave, a look of euphoria washing over her beautiful features before she crumpled into Ginny’s arms.

“Holy shit, Ginny,” Susan panted into her neck, her limbs shaking from the effort as the last remains of her climax coursed through her body.

“No kidding,” Ginny breathed, her heart still racing as a heavy tiredness began to sink in. 

She hadn’t realized just how pent up she was, and she held Susan close and kissed the side of her face before they untangled themselves to lay panting at the ceiling. It was several minutes before they begrudgingly made their way to the bathroom to wash up. Both of them wanted nothing more than to curl up right then and there and go to sleep – but after such activities, they both knew a trip to the bathroom was necessary.

As Ginny returned to her room, she saw that Susan had transfigured her bed wider and was lying half asleep within it, her ponytail re-fixed atop her head. She couldn’t help the sleepy smile that crossed her face as she crawled into bed behind Susan and wrapped her arm around her. Susan snuggled back into her, enjoying the warmth in the cool bedroom.

“G’night Ginny,” Susan whispered softly against the pillow she had taken from her spare bed. Her breathing was already deep, and Ginny knew she was mostly asleep.

“Good night Susan,” Ginny yawned before kissing the back of her neck and allowing the heaviness that floated over her to take hold.

The next morning Ginny awoke to the smell of breakfast floating down the hall from the kitchen and was surprised to see that she and Susan had not moved an inch from the night before. Despite their numerous sexual activities over the last few months, they had never actually slept together, so she hadn’t been sure what to expect. She had been told in the past, mostly by Hermione, that she was a bit of an aggressive sleeper. She was a notorious blanket stealer, rolled about, and often kicked anyone within a three-foot radius. Apparently, as it would seem, having an orgasm and then curling up next to Susan calmed her down sufficiently to prevent the chaos.

Shit we were more tired than I thought, Ginny mused as she felt Susan wake in her arms. 

They laid there happily for several minutes, neither one of them speaking while they just enjoyed the calm comfort of laying in each other’s arms while being thankful for having each other. If asked to describe how Ginny felt about Susan, Ginny would say that ‘she was everything to her’ and that’ she couldn’t imagine life without her’. She had told these things to Susan as the first semester progressed, and Susan had told Ginny that she cared about her more than anyone. Both of them knew how they felt, but they had yet to say the big word.

It felt weird to be afraid of a word, to let it hold so much power over you when really it should be welcomed gladly. After all, it was the single nicest thing that you could say to someone. But regardless, Ginny was too nervous to tell Susan that she loved her. She wasn’t worried that Susan would reject her. She knew from the way that Susan looked at her and how she would open her mouth then hesitate and close it again that she was thinking the same thing. It wasn’t because Ginny was unsure if she loved her either. Susan was home to her; she was where Ginny belonged. She wanted to spend all her time with the girl, and Susan was the first person she ran to when she needed to talk. She knew that she wanted to stay with her, that she wanted a life with this incredible woman that gave her the confidence to be herself and who so perfectly complemented her life. She was just afraid – for no logical reason, probably like most people are.

After saying good morning, the two girls finally hauled themselves from the warmth of the sheets and transfigured the bed back to its normal size. Susan tossed her pillow onto the spare bed and pulled back the comforter – clearly aware of the appearance they were keeping up without commenting on it. Then, they changed out of their pajamas and made their way out to breakfast to join Ginny’s parents.

“Good morning, girls,” Arthur said with far more energy than anyone should have in the morning.

“Good morning,” the girls echoed in perfect unison as they walked to the table, pulled out their chairs, and sat with identical movements.

“Hey! Don’t steal our bit,” two unified voices said from the kitchen doorway. Fred and George had just entered the Burrow and were starting to remove their coats.

“It took us years to perfect our synced methods. Surely you two could just wear matching outfits instead,” Fred said with a wink as he grinned at his sister.

“But then how would we tell them apart, Fred?” George asked with mock concern

“Fred! George!” Ginny leapt up from her seat and ran over to her twin brothers, who were dusting the snow off each other, and gave them both a hug. Even though she had been communicating with them throughout the school year to get supplies from their joke shop to use in the DA rebellion, she rarely ever saw them in person.

“Yeah, that’s us,” Fred said brightly as he squeezed her back and began slipping off his boots.

Ginny smiled widely as she returned to her seat and began hungrily digging into the spread that Mrs. Weasley had prepared.

“I thought that you weren’t coming until tomorrow,” Mrs. Weasley called, a large smile gracing her face as she came over to kiss them both on the cheek.

“And miss out on the amazing breakfasts you make over the Christmas holidays?” George said as he moved into the kitchen. “Not a chance!”

“Good morning, boys!” Arthur was positively beaming as he folded the magazine he had been reading and laughed when Fred and George both hugged him where he sat. “What a wonderful surprise! Are you off now until Christmas?”

“Sort of,” Fred replied as he grabbed a slice of bacon from the plate in the middle of the table and took a bite. “Just reduced hours. We’ll go in 11 am till 4 pm today, but we’re closed Christmas Eve and Christmas day.”

“So, we’ll come back after work today and stay an extra night,” George continued his brother’s sentence as he grabbed a slice of bacon for himself before turning his attention to Susan. “Susan – it’s been a long time!”

Susan had been seated quietly at the table throughout the exchange; a large grin stretched across her face as she watched with amusement. She had always loved the Weasley twins at school, but she had never seen so many Weasleys interact all at once. It was loud, comical, loving, and the most fantastical family situation she had ever been a part of.

“Yes, it has,” she said as she smiled up at the twins almost nervously, and Ginny nudged her foot reassuringly under the table. She knew that her family could be a lot to handle if you weren’t used to them.

Both Fred and George circled around the table to give Susan a single-arm hug across the shoulder while they continued to hold bacon in the opposite hand.

“No one escapes the Weasley greeting hug,” Fred joked as he squeezed Susan’s shoulder then made his way over to his usual seat. Both he and George filled up their plates, accepting the tea that Mrs. Weasley started handing out.

“I trust both of you slept well,” Mrs. Weasley smiled as she handed the girls their tea and then took her own seat. “You two slept like the dead! Didn’t hear a peep – poor things, you must have been so exhausted.”

“Oh yes, I slept wonderfully,” Susan replied as she buttered her toast and gently nudged Ginny’s foot under the table. Both of them tried not to laugh at her mother’s words; they had been anything but quiet last night.

“Yeah,” Ginny agreed as she reached for her tea. “Between exams and everything else, I was exhausted.”

“Everything else?” Mrs. Weasley asked, her brow arched as she held her tea mug. Arthur was busy fixing his tea and didn’t seem to notice that the tides were about to turn at the table.

“Well yeah,” Ginny said, somewhat surprised. With the number of problems that they had caused over the last four months at Hogwarts, she had just assumed that her parents had heard about it. She didn’t miss the mischievous grin the twins shared at the turn in conversation. “With Dumbledore’s Army – we’ve just been organizing and doing things around the castle.”

“What sort of things?” Mrs. Weasley’s voice had dropped in tone, and Ginny realized that either her parents had absolutely no idea what they had been up to all term, or her dad had done an excellent job hiding the letters from the school. Based on her dad’s pleasant and calm expression while he whistled a muggle Christmas song and buttered his toast, she guessed it was the former of the two.

“All kinds of things,” Ginny replied vaguely, picking up the jam that Susan had finished with to put some on her toast.

“Ginevra Weasley – you answer the question.” Mrs. Weasley was now looking at her sternly over the top of her mug, her back was straight, and her tone was serious.

“Yeah, Ginevra Weasley, answer the question,” Fred teased as he flashed her a set of pearly whites. Ginny shot him a glare. She was starting to think that her brothers were probably the only other people at the table aside from her and Susan who knew what the DA was up to.

“Oh, relax mum,” Ginny shrugged, turning her attention back to her plate and ignoring her brother. She was unfazed by her mum’s stern tone. She had heard it an uncountable amount of times over the years because of the two shit disturbers sitting across from her. “Just small things, nothing major. We’ve been training, and we practice defence, and you know, try to stop the Carrows from harassing the younger kids–”

“And set off stink bombs,” George mimicked her voice before eating more bacon.

“And tried to steal the sword,” Fred added, then sipped his tea.

“Tried to steal the sword?!” Mrs. Weasley sputtered, and Ginny glared daggers at her brothers. She knew they were only doing it to get a rise out of their mother and that they meant no real harm, but it was still incredibly annoying.

“Oh, come on, it’s no secret. Everyone knows,” Fred rolled his eyes at Ginny’s death glare.

“The sword? You mean the sword of Gryffindor?! You do understand that you’re attending a school that is being watched by Death Eaters?” Mrs. Weasley asked incredulously, sitting her teacup down so abruptly that the contents sloshed over the sides.

“The Carrows didn’t catch us, “Ginny retorted as she put down her toast in frustration, still side-eyeing her brothers as they sat back and enjoyed the show they had just started. “None of the Death Eaters knew about it! It was in Snape’s office – we almost got it to until the last second. And Snape didn’t want to look like an idiot, so he obviously never told anyone he was almost robbed by students. Probably would have looked bad to You Know Who, so he kept it quiet, and we only got detention with Hagrid.”

“We!?” Mrs. Weasley’s voice had escalated, and Arthur had finally stopped humming and took notice. She turned to face her husband somewhat desperately. “Arthur! Do you hear what your daughter just said?! It’s one thing to do something stupid on your own, Ginevra Weasley; it’s a completely different thing to involve your friends! You do understand that Headmaster Snape is a Death Eater – that he killed Dumbledore?”

“Yes!” Ginny leaned back in her chair in exasperation. “Of course, I know that! Everyone was there by choice!”

Ginny felt Susan place her hand on her thigh under the table, trying to keep her calm.

“Arthur, will you say something!!” Mrs. Weasley practically shouted, her eyes darting between her daughter and her husband.

“Why were you stealing the sword?” Arthur asked as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. His voice was sincere, and he sounded genuinely curious.

“Oh, for the love of – Arthur, that’s not what I meant!” Mrs. Weasley yelled, her frustration getting the best of her as her voice went past the point of being controlled.

“Because Harry needs it!” Ginny yelled back, glaring at her mother and clenching her hands into fists at her sides. She was starting to feel ready to abort this conversation and walk out of the kitchen. “I know that you only think of me as your incapable little girl – but I’m not!”

The twins gave each other a nervous look. This argument had far surpassed what they had intended to start. They had only wanted to stir the pot a little bit, to get their mother worked up and maybe have a laugh about some of the more ridiculous pranks that Ginny and the DA had pulled at school. In hindsight, it was stupid of them to think that bringing this up was going to end well. The conversation had quickly morphed into an argument about the war, specifically, about Ginny’s involvement in the war. Fred and George both knew that their mother struggled to accept her children’s involvement, so they should have known this would go poorly, and now they were both kicking themselves for it.

“You know perfectly well that I don’t think you’re incapable!” Mrs. Weasley’s voice was pointed.

“Then stop treating me like I am!” Ginny yelled, pushing her chair back and standing at the table.

“You’re still underage, Ginny! I’m not treating you like you’re incapable; I’m treating you like you’re my child – and I only want what’s best for you!”

“But none of us can afford to be fucking kids anymore!” Ginny practically screamed as she leaned forward, hands resting on the table. “I’m underage by eight months! Do you really think that matters at a time like this? We know how dangerous Snape is. We’ve been at school the last four months dealing with him and the bloody Carrow’s torment – we’re not complete fucking idiots! Everyone involved is there because they want to be, because they want to help – because they understand the consequences of losing this war!”

Ginny was breathing heavily. She knew that if she continued to scream, it would only hurt her cause. It made her look like the child that her mother clearly still saw her as. She needed to calm down. Taking a deep breath, she managed to get control of her raging emotions and removed her hands from the table, standing up straight before she continued in a low and serious tone.

“Stop treating me like a child and start treating me like someone who will be a part of this war – because I will be, whether I want to be or not,” Ginny paused, and she gripped the sides of her pants as she fought to retain her calm. “I know it’s hard for you to accept, but I’m going to help. I’m going to fight. I’m going to do everything I’m capable of to help win this war. I’m not going to abandon my friends or my family – I’m not going to sit on the sidelines hoping that someone else does the dirty work. You didn’t raise me to be like that; you raised me to stand up for what’s right, regardless of what’s easy and to protect and take care of my friends. To take care of my family. And that is exactly what I’m going to do.”

Mrs. Weasley was silent. Her eyes were wide with shock from the vulgar that had poured from her daughter’s mouth, but she was stunned into silence by the image before her. Her baby girl, her only daughter, stood fiercely at the table – speaking calmly, responsibly, and with a fiery determination that would not be swayed. Mrs. Weasley couldn’t process it. Her mind wouldn’t accept it.

When did my baby girl grow up? She thought as she gripped the table cloth tightly in her hands, unable to form a response and unwilling to accept that her daughter was no longer a child.

Ginny stared at her mother hard as she side-stepped from her seat, then calmly turned and walked up the stairs. The entire kitchen table sat there in silence. All of them watching Ginny go until they heard the familiar sound of her bedroom door open, and they waited for the explosion, but it didn’t happen. A year ago, Ginny would have slammed her door shut and made a racket for the next hour to ensure that everybody in the house knew she was upset. Today, there was only silence.

Ginny had just won the argument, and everyone knew it. She had calmed her temper, spoken clearly and logically, and stood up for the morals that her family had preached and taught her since the day she was born. Despite the choice use of language and the obvious tension that this would cause with his wife, Arthur couldn’t help the proud feeling that welled in his chest as he saw the young woman his little girl had become.

As the silence continued and an awkwardness settled over the table, Susan wriggled her toes uncomfortably and glanced around. Arthur was sitting back in his chair with an odd look of pride on his face. The twins sported matching looks of guilt from starting the argument, and Mrs. Weasley was still clutching the tablecloth tightly in her hands with her jaw clenched shut. After a full minute of silence passed, Susan decided to excuse herself.

“Sooo….” she said awkwardly as she placed the napkin that had been across her lap back on the table. “I think I’ll – I’m just going to go check on her.”

Pulling herself up from the table slowly, Susan paused when Arthur finally spoke.

“She’s not a child anymore, Molly,” he sounded proud, but there was a heaviness to his voice that made Susan’s heart ache. “And we need to accept that and support her, because she’s going to help anyway.”

Not wanting to intrude on any further family affairs, Susan retreated from her seat and climbed the stairs to Ginny’s room. Ginny heard the door and looked up from her pillow to see Susan enter the room, then let out a deep breath.

“Susan, I’m sorry,” Ginny sat up on her bed as Susan closed the distance. “You didn’t need to see that. Sometimes my mum and I don’t exactly see eye to eye, and I can’t help myself.”

“You don’t say,” Susan snorted lightly as she climbed onto the bed in front of Ginny, mimicking her position and sitting cross-legged. They were close enough that their knees were touching. Susan leaned forward and placed a hand on either side of Ginny’s head, resting her thumbs on her temples and bringing their foreheads together. “I thought you handled yourself really well actually – you know your dad supports you. I think he’s proud of you for standing up for what’s right.”

“I know,” Ginny breathed, closing her eyes and relaxing under Susan’s touch.

“And you know that your mother is just worried about you,” Susan continued as she rubbed gentle circles on Ginny’s temple.

“Yes,” Ginny sighed again, taking deep breaths like Susan had taught her to over the last few months to calm her heart. “I know she means well.”

“Mhmm,” Susan murmured softly before she slid her hands down Ginny’s neck to rest on her shoulders, still maintaining the contact of their foreheads. “She’ll come around in time – it’s just hard for her. You’re her only daughter and her youngest child. That’s a double whammy if there ever was one.”

“Mhm,” Ginny laughed as a smile tugged at her lips. 

Susan’s fingers were massaging the stress out of her body through her shoulders, and she felt like she could breathe again. Normally it would take Ginny hours to calm down on her own. While she had managed to control her temper and stop outwardly throwing tantrums, she still struggled to truly calm down on the inside – but with Susan’s touch, she’ ha already melted into a puddle. She knew exactly how to handle Ginny’s fiery temper and bring her back down to Earth. 

“Thank you,” Ginny whispered.

“Any time,” Susan smiled when Ginny finally opened her eyes and looked about ten thousand levels calmer.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” Ginny said, reaching for Susan’s cheek and leaning forward to kiss her gently.

“Yes, you do,” Susan whispered in between their kiss. “You’d be up here, stuck in your own head, throwing a damn fit for hours.”

Ginny snorted and pulled Susan in further, tilting her head to kiss her deeper when she heard the door to her bedroom creak open, followed immediately by a voice.

“Ginny, I–” George stopped midsentence, standing in the half-opened doorway staring at the two girls seated cross-legged on the bed before him that he had undoubtably just caught kissing. 

And one of them was his sister.

Ginny and Susan pushed away from each other the second they heard the noise, but they weren’t stupid – they knew that George had seen them. The wide-eyed expression on his face and the fact that his mouth was still hanging open from cutting his sentence short was a confirmation of that. Ginny felt her face flush crimson and her pulse double as she tried to rack her brain for a response, but the only thing her mind seemed capable of coming up with was: Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FFUUUCCCKK!

She sat frozen on her bed, her hands grasping the sheets on either side of her tightly while starring at her brother’s face in horror. Susan was flushed pink and sitting quietly in front of her, no doubt regretting the fact that she didn’t lock the door. She was looking at Ginny with two surprised eyebrows while she waited for Ginny to react. 

Susan wouldn’t be coming to her rescue this time – not as she had with Neville. This was family, and Susan had stated countless times that while she would support Ginny and stand beside her no matter what, it was up to Ginny to tell her family. She wouldn’t be taking the lead here; she would be the supporting role.

Ginny watched as the stunned expression began to fade from George’s face, his mouth slowly closed, and his eyebrow arched as the gears in his head began to turn. She could see him putting the pieces together in his mind until a look of realization struck him. Then he quickly stepped fully into her bedroom, closed the door behind him, and cast a silencing spell and a locking charm. He moved so fast that Ginny never even saw him draw the wand that was now in his hand. Before she could blink or speak a word, he had closed the distance between them and crouched down, throwing his arms around her.

“Ginny – I didn’t know. You could have told me.” George hugged her tightly as he spoke softly. “Ginny, Fred and I are here for you always. If you need anything, just let us know – we both love you and support you, and we’re here for you. You don’t need to hide from us, Gin – we love you and accept you for exactly who you are.”

Ginny’s brain couldn’t process the reaction, and she felt her chest tighten as a wave of emotion crashed over her. The sick nauseating feeling that had been building in her stomach stopped, and she felt her eyes prickle with tears as she tried to accept what was happening. 

She had always known that George and Fred would accept her. Out of all her family members, those were the two that she was least concerned about telling. But seeing it now, hearing his words, and knowing it was true was overwhelming. Her shoulders shook as her body went limp, and she wrapped her arms around George and gripped him tightly. She knew that she was spilling tears all over his shirt, but she didn’t care. She was too overwhelmed to speak. Unable to articulate how much his words meant to her, that his acceptance was like a heavy burden being lifted from her shoulders.

“It’s okay, Gin,” George said when she finally let him pull away. He gave her a kind and understanding smile before he brushed a final tear from her cheek. He wasn’t expecting her to say anything. He knew that this was hard. He turned to Susan, who was sitting with her knees to her chest and a hand to her mouth while her eyes shone brightly. “You are most welcome in our family.”

“Thank you,” Susan whispered when he hugged her, stifling a single sob in his shoulder. “Thank you, George.”

George crouched by the side of the bed, a look crossing his face that Ginny had never seen before. George was serious, compassionate, but serious.

“I assume that Harry and Hermione already know, but that Ron and the rest of the family don’t?”

“Harry knows,” Ginny nodded as she let out a shaky breath. “I never had the chance to tell Hermione myself before they left – but I’ve no doubt that she’s figured it out after spending so much time with Harry. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ron doesn’t know, though.”

“Neville and Luna know too,” Susan said quietly, and Ginny nodded in confirmation.

“Probably some of the other DA members have figured it out, but with the way the Carrows have been implementing punishment, we’re not telling people,” Ginny added. It felt wonderfully weird to finally say these things out loud and speak openly.

“That’s a good choice,” George nodded. He was aware of some of the happenings at Hogwarts, having supplied many of the DA stink bombs and other materials. “I’m guessing you were planning to tell mum and dad this Christmas?”

“Yes,” Ginny nodded again.

“Okay.” George looked thoughtful for a brief moment before he nodded to himself. “The passcode to our flat above the joke shop is ‘lemon sherbert willy whompers’. Our floo is connected to the Burrow, but it’s warded to only allow select people through, and you need the current password to get out of the fireplace. I’ll add Susan to the ward list so you can both get through. You know that mum and dad love you – and that they will love you no matter what – but if things get too tense or you just need a break and want to get out of here, you can come and stay with us. Our flat is heavily warded, just like the Burrow. You’ll be safe there.”

“George,” Ginny said softly as she stared at her brother in disbelief. She felt like she was meeting a completely different side of her brother, a side that hardly anyone ever saw except his own twin. “I – I don’t know what to say. Thank you – you – you didn’t have to do that.”

“No, but I wanted to.” George smiled at her again before standing up. “Having a place where you know you belong and are welcomed is the very least that you deserve, Ginny. Is it okay if I tell Fred so he knows that you might be popping by?”

“Yeah, of course. I was going to tell him myself – well everyone, at the same time on Christmas – I uh, I wasn’t expecting this to happen.” Ginny rubbed the back of her head a bit sheepishly.

“Oh, that reminds me!” George said before he turned to the door. “I came up here to apologize – Fred and I didn’t mean to start such a row between you and mum – we were just trying to get her riled up. In hindsight, it was a stupid topic to pick, and we should have known better. But if it’s any consolation, you totally won that argument, and I think dad’s really proud of you. He and Fred are still down there talking to mum. They’re trying to get her to come around on the idea that you’re not – you know – four anymore.”

“It’s okay, George,” Ginny waved her hand to dismiss the whole affair. “I know that you didn’t mean it to get that bad. I also lost my temper and fed the argument.”

“Maybe – but that doesn’t make what we did okay,” George said seriously, then he turned to wink at Susan. “You’re a really good influence on her, you know? Normally she would still be pitching a fit up here – stomping around and yelling at things. I’ve never seen her handle herself so well before.”

“I know she would,” Susan grinned with a laugh as Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Okay – I’ll leave you two be,” George said, placing his hand on the doorknob and removing the charms. “Oh! But maybe next time just remember to use a locking charm, yeah? I don’t fancy seeing any more of your activities than I did today.”

-x-x-

The remainder of the day proved to be uneventful. 

The twins had left to get ready for work before Ginny and Susan came down to the kitchen for lunch, so Arthur did his best to act as a buffer between his daughter and his wife. Ginny did her best to maintain her calm composure and avoided being alone in the same room with her mum for too long. They spent part of the afternoon playing games and then practiced some spells in the yard before returning inside to get ready for dinner. When Fred and George arrived for dinner with their overnight bags packed, Fred had quietly walked over to Ginny in the kitchen and given her a very firm and extended hug. Ginny managed to keep her outward emotions in check, but she squeezed him tightly in return, smiling when he then walked directly up to Susan, ruffled her hair and pulled her into a warm embrace.

Dinner was quiet. The twins talked mostly about work, their plans for expansion, and Arthur asked Susan about her favourite hobbies. Everyone did their best to avoid the topic of school altogether. 

It became apparent as the evening progressed that Mrs. Weasley had agreed to disagree with her husband. She most definitely did not support Ginny’s involvement in the war. She had clearly not come to terms with the fact that Ginny was no longer a child and did not want to accept her daughter as the young woman she had become. Every so often, Mrs. Weasley would mutter to herself, shake her head, or send Ginny desperate pleading looks – but at least she realized discussing it or arguing with her daughter was a lost cause. Apparently, Arthur and Fred had convinced her of that much, and she had calmed down some. Then, by the end of the evening, Ginny managed to exchange words with her mum without it exploding into an argument.

The girls played several rounds of exploding snap with Fred and George in the living room before turning in for the night. The four of them laughed loudly, screaming each time the cards exploded and passed around snacks that they had taken from the kitchen. By the fourth round, the drama from the morning was completely forgotten. 

Finally, around 1:30 in the morning, they decided to turn in, and Ginny and Susan made their way sleepily upstairs, brushed their teeth unenthusiastically and then returned to the main floor to collapse in bed. Susan didn’t even have the energy to widen the mattress. Instead, she pulled Ginny close to her chest and snuggled into her warmth. Both of them were too spent to partake in any activities, and they fell asleep to the sound of the wind blowing outside Ginny’s window.

-x-x-

The following day, they awoke in each other’s arms again to the smell of breakfast. They pulled themselves from bed and padded their way down the hall to join the family. Though, this time, breakfast was far less eventful. Bill had owled Mrs. Weasley to say that they would be arriving just before dinner, and Mrs. Weasley was busy fussing over what to make. Arthur sat reading his favourite muggle magazine before gleefully explaining to the remainder of the table the ‘science’ behind why the turkey Mrs. Weasley was preparing for dinner would make them sleepy.

“Remind me to throttle Hermione when I see her again,” Ginny muttered loud enough for Susan and her brothers to hear after her dad had been rambling on for over 30 minutes.

After breakfast, the girls took turns showering and then returned to the kitchen to help Mrs. Weasley prepare dinner. Ginny ignored the occasional look she still got from her mum and instead focused her attention on the potatoes she was charming. Susan, as it turned out, was exceptional at cooking spells and helped Ginny once she had finished her own tasks. The twins were quickly kicked out of the kitchen by Mrs. Weasley after they turned the broccoli purple and ‘lost’ the stuffing – which Ginny suspected would show up later.

Just as the dinner table was being set and the twins had returned to the kitchen, taking their seats, they heard the front door open, and Ginny couldn’t help the smile that split across her face. Bill, being the eldest Weasley son, was a full eleven years older than Ginny. When she was growing up, she didn’t know him very well as a sibling since he was at school most of the year for the first seven years of her life, but when he was home in the summer, she often thought of him as a secondary father figure. He always took care of her, helped her ride her broom and stopped her other brothers from picking on her. She was excited to see him – and based on the face that her mum had made yesterday when she mentioned them, she was excited for her mother’s attention to be turned back on Fleur instead of herself.

“Happy Christmas, Mum!” Bill called as he walked through the door behind Fleur and began helping the blonde with her coat.

“Merry Christmas, Weasleys!” Fleur’s heavily accented voice swept across the room as she walked in like a radiant glowing orb. Stepping into the kitchen to kiss Mrs. Weasley on the cheek, she then made her way around the room to greet everyone. “It is so very good to see everyone! I ‘ope you’ve been well.”

“That’s strange,” Ginny murmured to Susan as Fleur approached. “From the look on mum’s face yesterday, I thought for sure she’d been in a row with Fleur again – Hi Fleur, so nice to see you again!”

“Ah, you ‘ave a guest, who is zis?”

“This is Susan,” Ginny smiled as Fleur pulled Susan into a light hug.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Susan said as she accepted the hug, blushing when Fleur gently stroked her hair.

“So very nice to meet you, Susan, look at your ‘air! So gorgeous!”

Ginny looked back over to Bill, expecting him to come around and greet the family too – but he was still at the open door, back turned to the room and facing outside. Ginny heard him muttering in a low voice, and her ears picked up the sound of another voice. Furrowing her brow in confusion, she looked between her mum’s grim expression and Bill’s back until the voices grew louder and she could make out the words.

“Just come inside – it’s too late to back out now.” Bill sounded exhausted and annoyed.

“I told you I didn’t want to come.” The voice was low, but it sounded familiar.

“Well, too bad – deal with it.” Bill reached forward and grabbed something before he turned back into the house. The something that he had grabbed was apparently a person, who he proceeded to drag into the house by the back of their jacket, pushing them gently into the room.

“Ron?” Ginny, Fred, George, and Susan exclaimed in unison. Fred and George had stood from their seats; their faces scrunched in confusion as they looked between Ron and Bill.

An awkward silence fell over the kitchen as Ginny’s brother Ron stood before Bill, shoulders slumped, hair longer than it should be, and sporting a look of nervous dread. The pink tinge of his ears was visible when Bill pulled the knitted hat off his head before taking off his own jacket. Fleur had come to stand beside Mrs. Weasley, placing a gentle hand on the woman’s forearm supportively. Ginny glanced back to her mum, seeing the tight line of her jaw again – then to her dad, who now looked exhausted and sad.

Something’s happened, Ginny thought as her stomach began to knot and worry washed over her.

“Ron, what are you doing here?” Ginny asked nervously, taking a step forward toward her ashamed-looking brother. “I thought you were with Harry and Hermione – are they here too? Are they okay?”

“No,” Bill answered after Ron continued to stand in the kitchen mutely, his eyes fixed angrily at the ground. Bill had heard the building panic in his sister’s voice and he knew that she was concerned for her friends. “Nothing’s happened, they’re not here – just Ron – okay, everyone sit down. Let’s not hold up dinner. Mum worked hard to prepare all this.”

Slowly the twins sat down in their chairs, but their eyes didn’t leave Ron. Mrs. Weasley’s jaw clenched further, but she allowed Fleur to steer her to the table and took her seat. Ginny continued to linger near her chair, watching as Bill pushed Ron forward to the table and into an empty seat. She could feel Susan hovering at her elbow, unsure if she should sit or remain standing with Ginny.

“Ginny,” Arthur’s voice caught her attention, and she looked down the table to her father. His eyes were pleading. “Please take a seat; I think everyone has had a long day. We can all talk afterwards.”

Something’s happened, Ginny thought as she clenched her jaw and slowly took her seat next to Susan. She could see the visible relief on her father’s and Bill’s faces when she kept her mouth shut and didn’t demand answers, instead joining the thick tension at the table. The twins looked uneasy. Fred opened his mouth twice to say something before he begrudgingly stayed silent. George looked at Ginny with a raised eyebrow, silently asking if Ginny knew what might be going on. Ginny shook her head and made a frustrated face to convey her agitation.

 “Good,” Arthur said once the gang was seated. The stress across his features relaxing a fraction as his kids actually listened to him for once. “Well, I just wanted to say Merry Christmas to everyone! And thank you to Molly and the girls for putting together such a lovely meal. Everyone, dig in!”

Ginny picked up her fork and narrowed her eyes at Ron, her grip tighter than necessary as she bit back her questions until ‘later’. Despite her efforts, she knew that the odds of them making it through this dinner without another explosion were minimal to none.

Ginny started scooping food onto her plate, everyone grabbing from the bowls and dishes closest to them before passing items around. With each quiet murmur of thanks, the tightness in the air grew. It felt warmer than the Hogwarts train compartment, and Ginny could smell the tension in the air. Fred and George looked angry. Bill looked tense. Her dad looked like he was about to collapse from exhaustion and her mum looked like a tea kettle ready to whistle. With every stiff movement and every scratch of cutlery, Ginny could feel a ringing begin in her ears. She tried to keep control of her temper, even though she was desperate to ask the obvious questions that everyone at the table clearly wanted to ask. 

Why the fuck was Ron here?! Where was Harry?! Where was Hermione?! 

It took every ounce of her self-control not to dive across the table and throttle her idiot brother – to make him tell her everything. As Ginny chewed, the grip on her fork began to tighten, while the expression on Fleur’s face became more confused as the blonde looked down at her plate. Ginny knew that she couldn’t hold it in any longer. She couldn’t pretend to have a ‘nice family dinner’ when something had obviously happened. 

“Why is zer stuffing in ze carrots?” Fleur finally asked as she held up her fork to examine the bread that was peeking out of a rather plump piece of hollowed-out carrot.

“Why is Ron here and not with Harry and Hermione,” Ginny answered, dropping her fork to her plate with a clatter. “That’s the question we should really be asking.”

“Ginny,” Bill pleaded, his eyes looking desperate now.

“No – we want to know too,” the twins cut in, putting their cutlery down much more delicately than their sister.

“What the bloody hell is going on Ron, are Harry and Hermione okay?” Ginny asked.

“I don’t know,” Ron muttered as he stared at his plate.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Ginny’s eyes narrowed as she leaned across the table. “You left with them – you’re the last one who would have seen them – where are they?”

“I DON’T KNOW,” Ron yelled as he dropped his fork to the table and dropped his head into his hands. “SEE! This is exactly why I didn’t want to come here, Bill! No one will leave me alone about it!”

“Ron,” Arthur warned, trying to regain control of the situation before him.

“Well, why don’t you explain why you’re here to start with.” Ginny’s voice was tight. She refused to back-pedal on her behaviour and start yelling. “Why aren’t you with them?”

“Because I left okay! You want to tell me I’m a shitty person too and crap all over me like mum and dad!? FINE! Go ahead!”

“You left!?” This time it was Ginny, Fred, and George who responded in sync, all three of them dumbfounded by Ron’s response.

“You left them?” Ginny repeated, her face turning into one of disgust. “You left Harry and Hermione? What did you do – just abandon them?! Did you tell them you were leaving? Why would you leave?”

“You don’t know what it was like out there!” Ron yelled again, pushing his chair out and standing up at the table. Bill grabbed his sleeve tightly to keep him from darting off or jumping at Ginny. “It’s getting fucking dangerous out there!”

“Right,” Ginny spat with venom in her voice. “So, when it gets dangerous, you leave. I would have thought that would be the time to stay.”

“Oh, fuck off, Ginny – you don’t have a clue what you would do. You have no idea what it’s like out there!”

“I know that I wouldn’t leave my friends!” Ginny snapped, her voice rising as she pushed her own chair back to stand. She refused to sit while her idiotic, pathetic coward of a brother stood there and pointed down at her.

“Yeah, of course you wouldn’t,” Ron sneered at her. “Because everyone else in this family is just so fucking perfect. I’m the only one who fucks up! I'm the only one who makes mistakes! You don’t know what it was like – you don’t know what we went through! I made a mistake! A fucking mistake! One that I regretted instantly!”

“Then why didn’t you go back?” Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

“Because I couldn’t!” Ron yelled, turning to face his older brother as his voice broke. “I tried to go back – the second I left, I tried, but I got caught by snatchers! Then I couldn’t find them!”

“So, you’ve just been hiding out at Bill’s like a coward?” Fred asked, the tone of his voice making it obvious how little he thought of Ron at that moment.

“Oh – fuck you, Fred!” Ron yelled, turning to face his brother. “Like you’ve never made a mistake before.”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Arthur said, coming to stand at his seat.

“Ron, sit down,” Bill tugged at his arm.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to come here! I don’t need this shit, Bill. I already know I’m the bad guy. I already know that I’m the asshole – I don’t need all of you to remind me.” Ron’s voice was positively hoarse now, and Ginny could see the shimmer of tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake Ron,” Bill snapped, getting to his feet and using both hands to shove Ron back in his chair. “Ginny, sit down! Ron, I didn’t bring you here so that everyone could take their shot at you – I’m not a sadistic asshat. This is exactly why dad wanted everyone to just take a seat! Why is it that this family is incapable of having normal conversations without everyone losing their shit and just screaming at each other!? I wanted you to come, Ron, because things are getting worse. As you said – things are dangerous out there, and we don’t know when the next time will be that we all get to gather around this table – or if there will even be a next time! For all we know, one of us or all of us will be dead before this war is over! I brought you because I wanted everyone to see each other one last time and enjoy a nice fucking Christmas dinner!”

The entire room was silent, and Bill was panting. Ginny had taken her seat instantly when Bill had yelled at her and was staring up at him with awe and surprise. She had never seen Bill lose his temper. He was always the collected one in the family, and his outburst had sobered all of them. She was still absolutely livid at Ron, and she wanted to pummel the ever-loving shit out of him for deserting their friends – but her heart ached at the words that Bill had spoken. He was right. She didn’t know what was going to happen in the war. She didn’t know who would be lost to it. Her very own girlfriend was a prime example of someone who had had their family ravaged by war.

She flicked her eyes to her parents, who were both staring at Bill wordlessly. It was abnormal for them to allow such language in the house or to allow such a commotion to start without joining in or trying to defuse the situation. But Bill had stolen the spotlight and beat them to the punch. Then, at that moment, Ginny realized that her parents had known that Ron had come home. That was why her mum was so tense about Bill and Fleur coming for Christmas. They weren’t saying anything now because – well, because they probably had nothing else to add, and evidently, they had already spoken to Ron in person and said their piece. From what Ron had screamed and from the way he stood there on the verge of tears, apparently, her parents hadn’t coddled him.

“Thank you, Bill,” Arthur breathed as he nodded his head. Bill slowly sank to his seat, looking somewhat dazed in the aftermath of his own explosion, and Fleur placed a hand on his shoulder. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. What’s done is done. Right now, we don’t know where Harry and Hemione are. The last information we have from the Order suggests that they are safe, but their whereabouts or what they are doing remains unknown. Times of war are hard – they challenge even the strongest bonds, tearing people apart and pushing us to our limits. Right now, the most help we can offer – the best way we can aide the war – is to stick together and stay strong.”

Ginny’s shoulders softened as her dad spoke, and she saw Ron wipe his cheek with his sleeve from the corner of her eye. Fred and George were completely still, something that was rare to see, while her mum still sat motionless at the table – but instead of her tightly clenched jaw, she now just looked sad.

“I won’t lie to you children,” Arthur said quietly, eying his wife briefly before he continued to speak, revealing information that Mrs. Weasley had preferred to keep from her children. “Things are indeed very dangerous. The war has proved to be much more difficult and much more political than the Order anticipated, and right now, we are struggling to keep up with You Know Who’s forces. His support is growing by the day, and ours is dwindling. This upcoming year will not be easy, and the truth is – with Dumbledore gone, we’re not sure how we’ll pull through. So please – don’t fight amongst yourselves. Let’s just enjoy this time that we have together.”

With that, Arthur took his seat, and everyone slowly began to eat. His speech seemed to calm the room, and everyone solemnly digested the information that he shared while keeping their eyes on their own plates. The room was still tense, but the tone was different; everyone was choosing to let their anger go so they could just be a family. 

When dessert was finally brought out Fleur complimented Mrs. Weasley on the pie, and Fred asked Fleur if she had enjoyed the stuffing filled carrots – indicating that he could teach her the spell if she was interested.

After dinner, Ron retreated to his old bedroom, and everyone left him undisturbed. Ginny played a game of exploding snap with her brothers and Susan, and Fleur helped Mrs. Weasley clean up. Arthur helped in the kitchen before joining in on a final game of cards. It felt odd to be at home, to feel comfortable yet also uneasy. They were tip-toeing around one another and talking softly over evening tea. Fleur spoke with Susan about hair care spells, and Ginny discussed some new joke shop products with Fred and George while Bill talked quietly to their parents. Finally, when the clock struck midnight, they retired to their rooms.

Ginny lay in her bed holding an already sleeping Susan tightly to her side, feeling the odd sensations from the last few hours drift through her body. The house was quiet; she could hear the familiar creaks from the walls and the groan from the window as the wind rattled against it. Yet despite the overwhelming exhaustion that she felt in her bones, her mind was wide awake, mulling over the anxiety that had begun to fill her head as her eyes staring aimlessly at the ceiling in the faint moonlight.

How in Merlin’s name am I going to announce our relationship to everyone tomorrow after everything that’s happened?

Warnings:

This chapter contains: explicit smut (which can be skipped without missing out on main plot).

AND

Explicit language and derogatory terms/slurs that may be triggering, family drama centered around coming out, and a generally tense/challenging atmosphere.

Nothing was written in excess or for shock value, but some may find this chapter difficult and/or upsetting to read. As such, I have placed a two-sentence summary at the bottom of the chapter so that you can skip it if you wish.

******************************************

Ginny awoke Christmas morning feeling much like she had been hit with a bludger. Her head ached from the emotional rollercoaster the day before, and her heart felt heavy. She was so unbelievably mad at her brother – he was an asshole. Leaving your friends during a time of war was the most selfish and cowardly thing one could possibly do, and Ron had done it. 

Honestly, she wasn’t even surprised that it happened. Ron had never been overly loyal, and he didn’t exactly have nerves of steel. He was often a pathetic excuse for a friend. More than anything, Ginny was just disappointed in him. Disappointed and severely concerned about Harry and Hermione. What made her most frustrated, though, was that even though she hated Ron right now for leaving Harry and Hermione, Merlin knows where to fend for themselves; she couldn’t help the microscopic part of her that actually felt bad for him. Ron was clearly upset by his actions and regretted leaving his friends.

Good , Ginny thought bitterly as she yawned and curled into Susan further. That dumb, selfish mother fucker should feel guilty. Asshole.

“Good morning,” Susan yawned as she turned in Ginny’s arms.

“Good morning.” Ginny couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips as her eyes met with Susan’s bright honey-coloured ones. “I’m sorry about yesterday. My family has always been loud, but usually, we’re not so angry.”

“It’s okay,” Susan said, giving Ginny a soft kiss on the lips. “A lot of stuff is happening right now, Gin – I get it. Things are tough right now, everything is unsure, and people just don’t know how to handle it.”

“Yeah,” Ginny sighed as she brought her hand up to brush the loose hairs from Susan’s face. “Thank you for staying despite all this – for being here with me.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Susan flashed another one of her beautiful smiles.

“Merlin, you’re perfect,” Ginny mumbled as the pad of her thumb brushed over Susan’s cheek. “Despite everything – this is the best Christmas morning I’ve ever had.”

“Hmmm,” Susan murmured, kissing Ginny’s hand and moving in closer. “I don’t smell breakfast yet – maybe I can make it even better.”

“I like your thinking,” Ginny whispered before capturing her lips.

Susan moved her hand down Ginny’s side, stroking the curve of her waist before she slipped her hand under her pajama pants. She knew exactly how to touch Ginny to elicit a response, quickly finding the sensitive bud between Ginny’s folds. She stroked her fingers softly across Ginny’s skin then circled her clit, causing Ginny to moan into her mouth. It didn’t take long for Susan to get Ginny completely wound up, writhing under her touch and pushing her hips into Susan’s fingers.

“Shit, Susan,” Ginny panted as Susan kissed her neck and continued the circular motion of her fingers. “Oh fuck, right there – ugh, Merlin, it feels so good.”

“Do you want me to make you come?” Susan purred into her ear, nipping at the lobe and slipping her fingers inside Ginny’s slick channel.

“Yeess,” Ginny shuddered, gripping Susan’s frame tightly as the coil in her center became impossibly tight. “Please make me come – just like that–”

Susan added a second finger, pumping them in and out in time with Ginny’s hips before curling them just so as her thumb circled her clit. With each motion, Ginny wriggled more, shivers cascading over her body as the tension built. Pushing more firmly against her bud, Susan stroked the bundle of nerves deep within her until she came undone. A wave of pleasure rippled through Ginny’s body, and her eyes shut tight as she rode out the high.

“I love it when you come,” Susan whispered as she dusted Ginny’s face with light kisses, sliding her hand out from her pants and gently rubbing her side.

“I love it when you make me come,” Ginny grinned, pulling Susan into a tight hold and kissing her deeply.

A loud knock sounded on the door and startled them apart from their own little world.

“It’s Christmas!” Fred yelled, and he continued to tap the door excitedly, creating random noises. “You gotta get up!”

“But actually, though,” George’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Mum says to come help with breakfast, and I doubt she’ll be as nice waking you up as we are.”

Ginny groaned and hauled herself from the bed, taking a second to make sure that her clothes were on straight and that Susan was decent before she dispelled the lock and silencing charms, then wrenched open the door.

“Right, because this–” Ginny began randomly tapping her own door with both hands in the same annoying manner that Fred had done. “Is a super nice way to wake up.”

Both twins grinned at her before standing straight and turning on spot to salute Susan, who was still lying in Ginny’s bed.

“Good luck with her, Admiral,” Fred said as he finished his salute. “We do not envy you.”

“She is not a morning person, ma’am,” George added when he finished his own salute with a foot stomp.

Ginny rolled her eyes as they both turned swiftly and marched down the small hall in perfect formation.

“To breakfast, Lieutenant,” Susan said with a formal tone as she hopped out of bed and headed out the door behind the twins.

“Wait, why am I the Lieutenant?” Ginny asked. She didn’t have much muggle military knowledge, but she was pretty sure that Lieutenant ranked lower than Admiral.

“Because I am the Admiral,” Susan said, looking at her as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. “I would have thought that was obvious – even your bothers know I’m in charge.”

“Oh, hell no! You three are not taking sides!” Ginny yelled as she chased Susan down the hall to the kitchen.

-x-x-

Breakfast proved to be quite pleasant. It didn’t take long to prepare, and everyone ate quickly so they could bring their tea into the living room to drink while opening presents. Ginny grinned when her father opened the muggle jackknife that her twin brothers had gotten him – Arthur was very impressed with the device and spent much of the morning playing with it and constantly taking it out of his pocket. Fleur gifted Mrs. Weasley a rather expensive-looking teapot that Mrs. Weasley fawned over and promised to treasure forever. Ron sat somewhat solemnly in the corner, opening his gifts and thanking everyone quietly. Ginny was pleased to see that it looked like he might have cried the night before.

Fred and George loved the book that Ginny had gotten them, it was titled: ’101 easy, but uncommon spells that you never knew could be so useful’. Ginny had found it when shopping with Hermione at the old used bookstore in Diagon Alley during the summer. She had stumbled upon the book while waiting for Hermione to finish her browsing, and the title had been what caught her attention. When she skimmed through the contents, she immediately realized that Fred and George would likely be able to use some of the spells for their joke shop products. 

Susan was practically brought to tears when she opened a rather large lumpy present to find a Weasley jumper inside. She pulled it on very enthusiastically and refused to take it off for the remainder of the morning.

Once presents were finished, and everyone settled into friendly but cautious chit-chat, Ginny and Susan slipped upstairs to shower and change out of their pajamas – though Susan put her Weasley jumper back on once she had finished drying her hair. They had just come back downstairs and were standing in the kitchen with a fresh cup of tea when Ginny decided to bring up the topic that had been plaguing her mind since the night before.

“Susan,” she said quietly, knowing that her family members in the living room around the corner wouldn’t be able to see or hear them. “I’m not sure if I should tell them.”

“Because you don’t know how, or just given what’s happened?” Susan asked as she took a sip of her tea calmly. “Either way, I completely understand and will support you.”

“Just given everything that’s happened,” Ginny sighed and then rubbed her temple. “I also don’t know how to – I want to – but I just don’t even know where to start. Do I wait till lunch and be like: oh hey mum, can you pass the sandwiches; also, I’m gay. How’s the salad?”

Susan snorted into her tea and smiled at her sympathetically.

“There is no right way or wrong way, Ginny – you just tell them and then work it out after. I mean, obviously, you try not to break the news at funerals or birthdays – that would be less than ideal and wouldn’t be the best way to do it.”

“How did you tell your parents?” Ginny asked as she leaned against the counter and enjoyed the heat from her teacup against her cold hands.

“I think they always just sort of knew to be honest,” Susan said as she furrowed her brow in thought. “I told them while we were all sitting having tea. It was weird, actually. It was a hot summer night, the window was open, a breeze was blowing in, and my mum was doing a crossword puzzle while my dad was reading. I can still see the whole scene in my head. I was just sitting there staring out the window into the back garden, and all of a sudden, something just clicked in my brain, and the words came out. It was like ‘now’s the time’, so I just said it. It wasn’t to anyone in particular – I just said, ‘I’m gay’, then I took a sip of my tea like it was the most normal and causal thing I could have said. My parents both looked at me – and I’ll never forget this, my mum smiled and patted my hand.”

“Were they upset?”

“No. I think my dad’s exact response was, ‘oh that’s nice, dear, have you met any nice girls at school?’ He’s never really been one to give big reactions though… and my mum just thanked me for telling her. I don’t think my experience is a good example of what’s typical for most people.”

“Probably not,” Ginny muttered, looking over her cup toward the non-visible noise of the living room. “My family is like a pack of wild crups that scream louder than mandrakes.”

“They’re not that bad,” Susan said, turning toward Ginny and resting her hand on the counter between them. “They’re just passionate. They care a lot, and I think that’s just how they show it.”

“You’re just biased because you got a Weasley jumper for Christmas,” Ginny said, lowering one of her hands and placing it on top of Susan’s. She gripped it tightly, then intertwined their fingers. “You know they’ll still give you one next year even if you’re honest and say what you really think.”

“Why are you holding hands?”

Ginny’s eyes tore from Susan’s, and her head whipped around to face Ron, who was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Her mum, dad, and brothers were just steps behind him – all of them making their way to the kitchen for a snack. They all slowed when they reached Ron, who was standing in the middle of the wide doorway where he stood staring at Ginny and Susan. 

Instinctively, Ginny’s hand tightened further around Susan’s fingers, and if it wasn’t for the fear that was flooding her mind, she would have been worried that she might break them. Her heart raced as she stared at the confused and somewhat angry look on her brother’s face. Apparently, the decision had just been made for her, and whether she was ready or not, this was happening now.

“Ron – what the, did you forget how to walk?” Fred laughed as he walked around his brother and came to a stop just inside the kitchen, picking at the remains of breakfast that still sat on the table.

Ginny remained frozen on spot as her mum and dad easily maneuvered around Ron, each of them giving their son a confused look as they passed. Arthur looked across the kitchen to see what was going on. His eyes locked onto their motionless forms standing against the kitchen counter, where their tightly joined hands and Ginny’s wide but determined eyes were clearly visible – and Ginny saw a flash of comprehension cross her father’s face.

Her mum had approached the table to set down her tea and was completely unaware that anything was happening. At the same time, George made his way into the kitchen and came to stand beside Fred. He instantly noticed the girls and quickly poked Fred in the arm to get his attention, motioning with his head toward them and whispering something in Fred’s ear. Fred looked up toward them, and he gave them a thumbs up while George nodded firmly to the girls in support. 

Bill and Fleur were next to enter the kitchen, making their way in behind George. Fleur seemed to spot their interwoven hands immediately, her eyes lit up, and she gave them a soft smile before tugging on Bill’s sleeve.

“Why are you still holding hands?” Ron repeated, his eyes flicking between the two of them in utter confusion.

“What are you talking about, Ron?” Mrs. Weasley asked before Ginny had managed to open her mouth and form a response. 

Mrs. Weasley glanced up from the table to her son, then noticed how everyone was standing in an odd semi-circle by the doorway staring behind her. She promptly turned around to face the girls, her eyes flicking between them and then down to their tightly gripped hands. Yet despite seeing them, Ginny could tell that her mother had still not grasped the situation.

Feeling her face heat up, Ginny stared at the crowd of Weasleys that stood before her. She felt like she was a professor standing in front of a classroom about to give a lecture. It was like being on display, like being watched like an animal at a zoo. This was not how she had wanted this to happen, but to be honest, she had no idea how she wanted this to happen. She had run a million scenarios in her head, a thousand different dialogues, and countless different approaches. She had considered telling her parents first, then her siblings. She considered telling her siblings first, then her parents. She had even considered telling everyone and just never telling her mum, but no matter how many times she played it out in her head it had just left her and anxious mess.

She had always suspected that Fred and George would accept her, no questions asked. She had her doubts about Ron, her mum, and Bill. She figured that Charlie would understand since he was such a free spirit and had no interest in following the ‘traditional’ ways. She was surprised so far at Fleur’s visible positive reaction – which gave her hope that maybe Bill would come around. Her dad would love her no matter what. She doubted he would understand it, but she knew that he would support her regardless. 

Ginny felt Susan squeeze her hand gently, breaking her out of her frozen state.

Well,  Ginny thought as she took a deep breath and set her shoulders back. Time to earn my reputation as a brash and fearless Gryffindor.

“We’re holding hands, Ron, because we’re together,” Ginny said calmly and firmly. She stepped closer to Susan and moved their hands from the counter to hang in between them. Her eyes were fierce as she looked over each member of her family in turn, daring them to challenge her.

“What do you mean together?” Ron asked, spitting the words with unwarranted venom and making it sound like he didn’t understand her statement at all.

Ginny sighed; it was like his brain just didn’t work sometimes.

“Together as in together, Ron. We are together; we’re a couple.” She continued to hold Susan’s hand and maintain control of her voice, but she could feel her annoyance starting to flare. She glanced around the room, trying to gauge the reactions of the rest of her family.

“You’re a couple?!” Ron’s eyebrows shot up into his hair, and then she saw his features change to a look of disgust. “You’re cheating on Harry?! I knew you could be a bitch sometimes, but I never took you as a slag.”

“Ron!” Arthur shouted, turning angrily toward his son. “You will not use that language in this house or insult your sister!”

“But she’s bloody cheating on Harry, dad!” Ron yelled, pointing a finger at Ginny and glaring back at his father. “She’s a bloody slag!”

“I’m not a slag, you dimwitted wanker!” Ginny’s voice had risen as she struggled to control her anger and keep her wand in her pocket. How she would love to curse her idiot brother into oblivion right now for even suggesting that she would do such a thing to Harry. “Harry knows, Ron – we broke up before school ended last term.”

“Harry knows?” Ron shook his head in disbelief. “Funny, he never mentioned it to me.”

“Well, maybe, that’s because you didn’t stick around long enough to find out!” Ginny said through clenched teeth. It was a low blow, and she knew it, but Ron had become a giant asshat, and she was starting to care less and less about preserving his feelings when he was so ready to throw insults at her and question her integrity.

Ron went silent, his face furious as his ears tinted pink.

“We agreed to keep our breakup secret until I had sorted things out and until we could tell everyone together. But given how this summer went, we didn’t exactly have the chance,” Ginny continued, choosing to ignore her brother altogether and speak instead to the remainder of the Weasleys in the room. She was desperate to get control of the situation and announce this the way that she wanted to. “We never meant for it to go on this long. I wanted to tell everyone sooner, just with the war and Harry going off, there never seemed to be a good time to bring it up.”

“Or maybe,” Ron spat, clenching his fists and preparing to attack again after recovering from Ginny’s blow. “He was just embarrassed to find out that his girlfriend was a bent twat. How long was it after you ‘broke up’ that you got together with her? Or did you only find out you were bent after you’d already hooked up? Was that how it happened? You cheated on my best mate and felt so bad that you broke up with him?! No wonder he never said anything!”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Mrs. Weasley yelled as she smacked Ron over the head. “One more word Ronald Weasley and you’ll regret it – we do not speak like that to our family in this household.”

“We get that you’re having trouble processing this, Ron, but this isn’t about you,” George said dangerously.

Looking over to her brothers as he spoke, Ginny realized that at some point, while Ron had been insulting her, George must have drawn his wand because he was now gripping it tightly in his hand and pointing it at Ron’s face. Fred looked even angrier at his side. He was glaring at Ron intensely, and his right hand had a careful hold on George’s sleeve as if preventing him from actually casting a spell.

“Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley turned to her daughter, her expression stunned and confused. Ginny could feel her heart drop as her mother searched her eyes. It was so glaringly apparent that her mum was refusing to process the information, and that she wasn’t accepting what was happening. “Ginny – dear, are you sure? Are you really?”

“Yes, mum. I’m really gay,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes at the denial that caked her mother’s face. “And before any of the rest of you run your mouths – NO, I wasn’t dating Harry when Susan and I got together. Harry and I mutually broke up at the end of last year. He was the first person that I told, and he supported me. He still supports me. Susan and I didn’t start dating until the start of this school year.”

Ginny shot a death glare at Ron, who was scowling at her in disgust. His nose wrinkled in disbelief, and his eyes darted every so often to George’s wand, but he remained silent.

“So, it’s still new,” Mrs. Weasley’s voice had a desperate optimism to it, and Ginny immediately knew what she was thinking.

“We are, yes – but my being gay isn’t! Merlin, mum, I know what you’re thinking and just stop. This isn’t a phase – I can’t just not be a lesbian because it’s not what you want.” Ginny could feel her heart sinking in her chest. She had suspected that this would be her mother’s reaction but witnessing it was so much worse than thinking it.

“There is nothing wrong with being gay,” Mrs. Weasley said unconvincingly as she tried to backtrack on her words. She ran her hand through her hair in frustration. “It’s just – I, well, it’s just–”

“It’s just that you didn’t want your daughter to be gay – right?” Ginny said quietly. The pain in her chest was growing as she stared at the look on her mother’s face which said it all. Mrs. Weasley didn’t deny it and instead the woman looked around the room as if wanting back-up from the family that surrounded her. “You’re fine with other people being gay, right? If another family has a gay kid, that’s okay. If someone else’s daughter was a lesbian, you would support that, wouldn’t you? You just don’t actually want any of them in your family – because that wasn’t your plan.”

“Ginny,” Arthur said softly, seeing the hurt in his daughter’s eyes and stepping forward. He was obviously uncomfortable. Ginny could see the worry in his eyes as he looked at her, but she knew that he didn’t know how to help. He so obviously wanted to support her, but he was unsure what to say or do. “You know that your mother loves you. We both do–”

“Yeah, of course.” Ginny’s voice broke as she spoke. Then she heard an unfamiliar, almost hysterical laugh come from her mouth. It felt surreal – like she was no longer in charge of her own body. She laughed again and ran her free hand through her hair. She could literally feel her heart breaking. She was losing her composure, and she was powerless to do anything about it. This hurt so much worse than she had ever anticipated. “You love me – just not all of me – just not the gay parts. Because that doesn’t fit in with the life you pictured for me, does it, mum? It’s not what you wanted. It’s embarrassing – having a gay witch in your family.”

“Ginny, of course I love you,” Mrs. Weasley cooed as she moved toward her daughter, a look of desperation in her eyes. “It’s just – you’re so young, and this is so new – how can you be sure? You don’t really know if you’re a lesbian, Ginny. I just don’t want you to throw away what you had with Harry because of some confused fad that you’re going to outgrow. If you throw this away, you’ll miss out on so much – children, a real family – I don’t want you to regret your decisions later on. There’s a lot going on right now – you’re just confused.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Ginny whispered, though she knew the whole room could hear her.

She stepped away from her mother’s advance and pulled Susan with her, moving them closer to the only true support she felt she had in the room – toward Fred and George. She wanted to leave. She wanted to get away. She could feel the prickle of hot tears at the corners of her eyes and a tightness across her chest that threatened to break.

“Don’t you dare try to make this about ‘my best interests’.” Ginny tried to ignore the single tear that leaked from her eye. She didn’t want to be weak. She didn’t want to lose her strength. She had said she didn’t care what her family thought, that it was their problem to deal with and not hers, but of course she cared. This was her mother. The one woman in the whole world who was supposed to love her unconditionally and support her no matter what – and she was rejecting her. “This is just you not wanting to accept the fact that you have a gay daughter. I’ve been gay my whole life, mum. I didn’t just wake up in September and say, ‘gee I think I might become a lesbian today’.”

“Ginny, I just think you should give this more time and not be so rash–“

“I can’t do this, “Ginny breathed out, clutching her chest as the tightness that had been building there finally broke. The tears began streaming down her face. She could hardly see the room in front of her as she felt her breath come in short quick rasps as she panted out her words. “You just don’t want to lose Harry. You don’t want to lose the future you envisaged – your imaginary grandchildren – your imaginary perfect daughter – I – I can’t be what you want me to be.”

Blindly she pulled on Susan’s hand, moving rapidly toward the fireplace in a bid to escape the Burrow.

“Ginny wait!”

She heard her father call as he moved toward her, but she didn’t stop. Her heart felt like it was going to explode as she reached for the flower pot that held the floo powder. She wouldn’t let herself fall apart in front of her family. She needed to get away; she needed to breathe.

“Afternoon Weasleys!” a voice from the door called as a cold draft spilled into the house.

The room froze, and Ginny stopped herself two steps from the fireplace. Floo powder in hand, she spun around to see her brother Charlie step in from the snow with a huge smile on his face. His smile immediately fell when he looked around at the seriousness of the scene before him.

Ron was standing angrily in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. He looked ready to explode save for the fact that he was currently being held at wand point by his brother George. George looked livid. His eyes were dancing angrily while Fred stood by his side, looking devastated, but continued to restrain his brother from using his wand. Fleur was gripping Bill’s arm tensely, her eyes darting around the room as she appeared unsure of what to do. Bill looked conflicted, he was steady next to his wife, but the turmoil was evident in his eyes. Mrs. Weasley was clutching the kitchen counter for support. She looked desperate; her eyes panicked like she was about ready to have a heart attack. While their father, Arthur, was mid-dash toward the living room with his arm outstretched toward the fireplace. The desperation on his father’s face made Charlie’s jaw clench – it took a lot of distress to visibly upset his father this much.

Then lastly, there was Ginny. 

His eyes circled round to his baby sister, who was standing a foot from the fireplace, hand loaded with floo powder, tears pouring from her eyes while she tightly clutched the hand of a gorgeous strawberry-blonde girl that he had never seen before. Charlie might have been initially confused by the scene before him, but the fierce way that the strawberry-blonde stood by his sister’s side and the obvious devastation on Ginny’s face made the situation quite clear. 

Just by looking at her, he could see the hurt, feel the ache, and sense the rejection and her need to flee.

“Oh.” 

The word tumbled from Charlie’s mouth as his brain quickly put the pieces together. The tension in the room was so great he could have cut it with a knife, and he instantly understood the desperation on his father’s face. Forgetting his boots and jacket, Charlie rapidly made for the living room like his dad, wanting to reach Ginny and diffuse the situation before they never saw her again. He knew what his family could be like, and sometimes their love or best intentions did more damage than good. 

“Okay,” Charlie said calmly. “Maybe we should all have some tea, and then Ginny can tell us all about her wonderful girlfriend.”

“Charlie–” 

His name came out like a broken sob from his sister’s lips as more tears began to pour from her eyes. He reached the two girls before Arthur and pulled them both into a tight hug, clutching Ginny to his chest as she continued to grip the floo powder tightly. He was afraid to let go. He knew how determined and how strong his sister was. If she was this upset, the situation was bad. If they let her leave now, the damage might not be repairable. 

He looked back over his shoulder towards the other Weasleys in the kitchen, giving them all a look as if to say what the fuck did you do? He wasn’t sure who had done this, but he had his suspicions.

“Zat would be wonderful!” Fleur agreed quickly and loudly. 

After all the chaos surrounding her relationship with Bill, she often chose not to get involved in Weasley family arguments. Evidently, though, she’d had enough and she refused to sit on the sidelines of this ridiculous explosion. Like Charlie and the twins, she intended to make her support clear, and she knew that they needed to calm everyone down and get the room under control before Ginny bolted again. 

Fleur fiercely looked up at Bill, gripping his arm tight and making it clear exactly where she stood on the subject. She arched a brow, challenging him to disagree, but Bill nodded firmly and flicked his wand at the teapot to get tea started.

“Wait – just wait,” Mrs. Weasley said quickly as she saw the tension in the room start to lessen, and she sensed another chance to try and better get her point across. 

She knew that her daughter was stubborn, and she needed this opening to try and talk some sense into her. She was unwilling to let this go, unwilling to let her daughter continue to throw away the happy life she had ahead of her with Harry. She pushed herself away from the counter and began approaching the living room behind Arthur as she spoke, still desperate to try and change the situation. 

“Charlie hold on,” Mrs. Weasley said quickly. “Let’s not just rush into anything – we need to discuss this–”

“What’s to discuss?” Arthur asked, cutting off his wife’s voice in a tone much louder than his usual level. 

He ignored the still open doorway as he quickly closed the distance between him and his daughter, who was currently being held tightly in place by Charlie. He gripped his son firmly on the shoulder and gave him a nod. Charlie loosened his grip to step away from the girls, and Arthur took a breath, leaning down to look his daughter in the eyes. Her face was pink, her eyes were bloodshot, and tears continued to pour down her cheeks – but her fiery determination was still there. She stared back at him intently, her gaze fierce and defiant.

Arthur was excellent at solving logical problems, organizing, planning, and even rallying people in times of need. He was not, however, as good at comforting upset people or dealing with emotional topics. Usually, that was Mrs. Weasley’s area of expertise – but this news was clearly proving to be too much for his wife to handle. Between Molly’s disappointment in Ron, her feelings of failure over Percy, and the stress of the war, this was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. He knew that she would come around in her own time, Molly loved Ginny, and her reaction right now was simply a knee-jerk one. Her hot-headed attitude was clouding her judgement and making her act irrationally.

This was the howler from second year all over again. A quick, temperamental and angry reaction that she had regretted after she had calmed down. It was embarrassing to think about – a grown adult sending a screaming letter to a child at school. But, similar to how it was then, he knew that when his wife calmed down and she’d had a moment to come to terms with Ginny’s announcement and accept the information, she would undoubtably be mortified by her own reaction.

Right now, Mrs. Weasley was mourning the loss of the life that she had planned for her daughter. Her only daughter. She had desperately wanted a girl for so many years. She wanted to be there when her daughter got married, when her daughter had children, when her daughter became a mother, and right now, Mrs. Weasley felt like that life was vanishing before her eyes. He knew that his wife was desperately clinging to the image she had of Ginny in her head, what she wanted Ginny to be and that she couldn’t let it go. But Arthur knew that Molly’s image of their daughter could be repainted. He knew that Molly would become excited for the new future Ginny had – and that Molly would realize just how incredibly special it was that Ginny had shared her truth with them. 

She just needed time to process things.

Right now, though, this needed to stop. He may well understand why his wife was reacting the way she was – but that didn’t make it okay. She was mistakenly putting her own feelings before their daughter’s, looking at this as a loss instead of a wonderful gain, and it was causing irreparable damage. He wouldn’t allow her to ruin their relationship any further, especially when he knew that his wife would regret it later once she sorted herself out.

“Ginny,” Arthur said slowly, holding her gaze firm as he spoke only to her. “You know that I love you no matter what – and that I will always support you. Always.”

Ginny clenched her jaw, holding in the sob that threatened to burst from her lips as her father pulled her into a tight hug. The pain in her heart was immense as she breathed in the familiar warm scent of her dad’s Christmas sweater. It flooded her mind with memories of her childhood and made her chest tighten even worse. She had always known that he would support her, and she let out a deep breath as he pulled away.

“Susan,” Arthur said with a small smile, his eyes flicking back over to his daughter. He wanted to show her that he meant what he said – that he supported her and always would. So he formally held out his hand to Susan and stood up straight, just as he would have done with any of his children’s partners. “I believe that we were not properly introduced at the station. I’m Ginny’s dad. It’s a pleasure to meet you; I’m glad that Ginny has found someone who makes her happy.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Weasley,” Susan said softly, taking Arthur’s outstretched hand and shaking it firmly. The gesture made her eyes prickle as a smile tugged across her face.

“Please, call me Arthur – Mr. Weasley is much too formal. It’s an honour to welcome you to the family,” Arthur said sincerely before pulling Susan into a tight hug.

Ginny dropped the floo powder as she brought her hand up to cover her mouth as she watched her father formally welcome her girlfriend into the family. She could see the shimmer in Susan’s eyes as she hugged Arthur back tightly and grinned into his shoulder. They were the same words that he had said to Harry when he welcomed him to the family, and it made Ginny’s heart burst.

He was treating them as equals.

“Arthur!” Mrs. Weasley almost cried as she looked between her husband and Susan, her hand clutching at her chest. “Arthur, you can’t possibly be supporting this. Ginny is still a child! She doesn’t know what she wants!”

“Molly,” Arthur said sternly, turning to his wife. He looked at her harshly before his eyes softened a fraction. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, sad, and pleading. “Please… I think we’ve had more than enough excitement for the day – not to mention the last forty-eight hours. I’ve had enough of everyone yelling and screaming and accusing each other of nonsense. It’s Christmas day for Merlin’s sake, and I’d like to enjoy some time with my family and those who are important to them.”

Mrs. Weasley went silent, her eyes filling with tears as she watched Charlie turn his back to her and usher the girls toward the couch in the living room. George finally lowered his wand and then pushed past Ron to join them. Fred grabbed the biscuits from the kitchen table, a dark expression on his face as he followed closely behind, not looking at Ron or his mother as he passed by.

“Well, ze tea should be ready, yes?” Fleur said to Bill, as if the explosion that had taken place only moments ago never occurred. 

The blonde made her way over to the kettle while Ron dropped himself into a chair at the table and slumped his head against the surface. Bill followed behind Fleur, grabbing clean mugs and fetching the sugar. As Ginny sat feeling light-headed on the couch, she could see her dad make his way back over to the kitchen, no doubt going to speak with her mother. 

She knew that her mum needed space. She needed time to process everything that had just happened, and it wouldn’t be easy to do if she and Susan were staying in the house. They needed to leave so her mum could deal with this on her own terms. Besides, if Ginny was being honest, she didn't even want to look at her mother right now, let alone be in the same house. While she knew that she loved her and she knew that this would pass, a piece of Ginny’s heart felt so broken by the denial that had so readily poured from her mum’s mouth that the thought of staying at the Burrow made her sick. The woman's blatant unwillingness to accept that Ginny was not who she thought she was, was devastating. 

She sat close to Susan on the couch, speaking quietly to Charlie and the twins before the headache hit her. She felt like she had been in a physical battle. Her head pounded, her eyes hurt, her chest was sore, and she was emotionally dead. The tears had stopped coming because she was so dehydrated there was nothing left to cry, but the pain hadn't stopped. She felt like an empty shell – exhausted, hollow, and incapable of anything else.

The tea that Fleur brought out helped, and the kind smile that Fleur gave them when she patted Ginny’s knee was reassuring. Yet despite this, Ginny knew she was down for the count. She couldn’t be here in this house. She didn’t have the energy to exist around her family, let alone talk to them like an actual human being after what had just happened. While she appreciated the support that she was getting from some of her family members and she respected her dad’s request for time with his family – she needed to leave. She felt bad for wanting to go, but she needed to lay down and just breathe. Right now, the only thing that was keeping her from shutting down completely was the fact that Susan was sitting strong like an anchor by her side.

Several minutes later, Arthur rejoined them and gave Ginny a reassuring smile when he sat in his armchair across from them. Ginny knew that her eyes looked dead when she looked at him, she could tell from the pained expression on his face.

“Ginny,” Arthur said quietly, leaning toward her with his elbows on his knees. “I – I know that I said I wanted to spend some time with everyone today and have a normal Christmas. But that request is unfair. Ginny, love, you look exhausted. If you girls want to go take a nap or just call it a day that’s okay. We can visit tomorrow or the next day – we have lots of time between now and you return to school.”

“Thanks, dad,” Ginny said flatly, as she was incapable of mustering anything more. She pulled herself off the couch and crossed the room to give her dad a hug. “I’m sorry – I – I didn’t want it to happen like this. I didn’t mean to ruin Christmas.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about because nothing is ruined,” Arthur said firmly as he hugged her tightly in return. “It means the world to me that you chose to let us into your life, to see the real you.”

“Thanks, dad,” Ginny murmured when she pulled away. She glanced over her shoulder to Susan, who was talking with Charlie and Fleur. “I think we might go to Fred and George’s – to give mum some space.”

“I understand," Arthur said gently. "Don’t worry about things here. Your mum and Ron will come ’round – you’ll see.”

“Yeah,” Ginny snorted as her eyes started to feel heavy. “Maybe.”

After saying a quick goodbye to those in the living room, Ginny and Susan flooed to Fred and George’s flat. They used the password to exit the fireplace and enter the living room; then, they collapsed on the first couch that they saw. Ginny was too exhausted to speak as Susan pulled her to her chest, curling behind her like a warm and comforting vice. Then she let her eyes fall closed, knowing that Fred and George would bring their bags over later.

-x-x-

Two sentence summary:

After a private and intimate moment on Christmas morning, Ginny and Susan go join the Weasley family for breakfast and gifts are exchanged. After which, Ron sees the girls holding hands in the kitchen, and he wrongly assumes that Ginny is cheating on Harry – an explosion ensues: Ron lashes out, Mrs. Weasley struggles to accept her daughter and thinks this is a ‘phase’, Arthur loves Ginny and is desperate to help, Charlie shows up and stops the girls from leaving, Fleur and the twins declare their support, Bill helps make tea to calm everyone down, and the girls spend the remainder of their holidays at the twin’s flat.

This chapter is dedicated to Liz86000, who used a highly effective attack (Bambi eyes) to ensure that this chapter contained HHr relationship building and stuff 

-x-x-

Warnings:

This chapter contains: explicit smut (which can be skipped without missing out on main plot)

******************************************

“I look utterly ridiculous,” Harry groaned as he glanced at his Polyjuiced reflection in the small mirror Hermione had handed him moments ago. 

Hermione snorted, bringing a hand up to quickly cover her mouth and feigning innocence when Harry, or rather, a large older woman with tight, curly, short hair, turned to glare at her. She couldn’t help it, things had been getting more stressful lately, and she really needed a laugh. The purple and green horned rimmed glasses with a gold chain to keep them securely around Harry’s neck was her favourite addition to the ensemble.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?”

“No.” Hermione almost choked on the word as she tried to keep a burst of laughter at bay.

Harry was standing there trying to look stern, but his large sweater, which featured a glorious winter scene, burgundy coat, and bulldog brooch, didn’t do much in the way of making him look imposing. Instead, he looked exactly like someone’s 50-year-old aunt might look. Which was good, because that was exactly the disguise they were going for. She couldn’t deny the fact that she was very pleased with her transfigurations. Harry looked positively perfect, and she grinned proudly at her handiwork.

“Why couldn’t I go as the young girl again?” Harry rolled his eyes at her obvious enjoyment, returning his gaze back to the mirror and tucking a curl behind his ear. “I feel like you could have pulled this off much better than me.” 

“We’ve already discussed this,” Hermione said as she smacked his arm and ignored his comment about her being able to pull off the look of a 50-year-old woman better than him.

She knew that he was just dreading going to see his Aunt Marge and was venting his frustrations. It was the straw breaking his back amongst their other more pressing concerns. It was easier to be frustrated with this task than to allow himself to think about everything else. It was the same reason why she was laughing at his appearance – she had to. Otherwise, she might well cry. She was practically at her wit’s end and barely keeping it together.

“I’m playing your niece, you’re the one inquiring about purchasing a dog, and you will be the one talking to your aunt. You know her, so you’re far better equipped to talk with her than I would be. You can respond with what she’ll want to hear. I look like I’m 12 – there’s no way your aunt is going to even acknowledge a word I say. I’m just there as a prop.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry sighed, throwing his head back to look at the quiet sky of the forest surrounding them. “Let’s just hope that I don’t lose my temper – my aunt’s kind of a bitch, you know. And by kind of – I mean that she is a bitch.”

“Well… then don’t lose your temper,” Hermione teased as she took back the mirror from his hand and secured it in her purse. “She doesn’t know that it’s you. Right now, you’re a potential customer – I’m sure that she’ll be nice enough.”

Harry gave her a deadpanned look as she finished transfiguring her jacket into a blue child’s coat, much more suiting to a young 12-year-old girl than the dark grey one she had before. She added a pink pompom hat to her head as a touch of innocence to her look before she examined the remainder of her outfit.

“You severely underestimate my family’s capacity to be douches,” Harry’s tone was flat. Still, he straightened his brooch and rolled his shoulders, resigning himself to the outfit with no further complaint.

Hermione snorted as she finished changing her boots and pants, recalling the phone conversation from the day before. She had called Harry’s aunt under the guise of being interested in purchasing a new puppy from a recent litter (a litter they knew she had after snooping around). At some point during the conversation, Harry’s aunt had felt the need to explicitly tell her that she did not sell her beautiful babies to young children, hippies, vegetarians, or insurance salesmen because they could not be trusted. It was an unexpected rant, to say the least. The woman’s stipulations were ideocratic, making no sense and obviously being deeply rooted in bias.

After the call, Hermione adjusted her expectations. She held no false hope that Harry’s aunt might be a saint or even a remotely decent person for that matter – she just hoped that Marge was decent enough to treat a potential customer politely. Taking Harry to see his aunt was a bit of a risk given the history between them and their current mentality. She was silently crossing her fingers that he would behave, keep his cool and not blow up – or blow his aunt up again. Once she had assured Marge on the phone that they were none of those undesirable things, they had arranged to meet today at 1:00 pm to see the puppies on her small farm.

“Alright, let’s get this done and over with. Are you ready?” Harry had approached her, hand outstretched in anticipation of their apparition.

“Almost, just let me pocket my wand,” Hermione replied, her morphed face scrunching as she stored her wand in a charmed elongated pocket and ran her hands over her new jacket. She grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him closer. “Okay, let’s go!”

The pop of their disappearance echoed through the dead forest that they’d been standing in. With their tent having been packed up minutes before, nothing remained of their presence in the Northern forest. They appeared immediately in a small alley behind a store on a bustling street. They had picked the location out the day before, so they were able to quickly make their way down the familiar short alley and toward the busy road. Hermione’s hand gripped Harry’s tightly, her opposite hand wrapping her hidden wand in a death grip as they cut through the crowd. Keeping their eyes straight ahead and not stopping for anyone, they hailed the first taxi that they saw.

Over the last two weeks, Hermione and Harry had been relentlessly brewing potions, training themselves to exhaustion, examining the golden werewolf bracelet, and gathering ingredients for the antivenom recipe which Mr. Weasley had sent them. Things had started to get a bit tense in the tent as the days went by. The regular updates from Mr. Weasley about the war efforts by the Order had added to the list of things that Hermione constantly worried about throughout the day, and she found that they were keeping her awake at night – but she never stopped reading them. They needed as much information as they could get their hands on. It was just unfortunate that the majority of the information was not favourable.

Several more members of wizarding families known to support Harry and the Order had been killed since the new year, including Lee Jordan’s father. Phineas’ update from Hogwarts had indicated that things were about as bad as they could possibly be, and both Hermione and Harry were worried that Ginny and Neville could be in real danger. They had sat together silently at the dinner table several nights in a row watching the Marauders Map, finding that both Ginny and Neville spent an awful lot of time with the Carrows – which was deeply concerning. Combine that with the small details that Mr. Weasley revealed about the inner workings of the Ministry, and Hermione was starting to wonder how the hell they were going to pull through. 

So, she threw herself into potion making, aggressive training, and started writing specific notes and instructions in her journal for Harry in case something happened to her. She was exhausting herself, burning the candle on both ends and lighting the center on fire – but she couldn’t stop it. She could feel herself spiralling while the world seemed to burn around her. She couldn’t explain why, but a heaviness had settled over her heart after the apothecary robbery, and it was eating away at her slowly.

The only positive that came from their midnight robbery in Ottery St. Catchpole was the actual ingredients they obtained. As it turned out, they already had most of the necessary ingredients for the antivenom: four cups of distilled water, a handful of witch hazel, three drops of salamander blood, one pinch of unicorn horn, a lemon, mint, unicorn hair, a bezoar, and yarrow. All that remained was getting their hands on the drool from a black bulldog and fresh snakeweed harvested exactly fifteen minutes after midnight.

Once they had everything, Hermione would be able to start brewing the potion on Monday, allow it to stew for three days, and then have three small bottles of antivenom. Each bottle would be able to break down all the poison within the bloodstream at the time it was consumed into harmless byproducts. If they were bitten again after drinking the potion, they would need to ingest a second bottle, but assuming that they got away after being bitten, they would have enough potion to cure three separate incidents. It was a far easier potion to brew than what she had expected. The difficultly, it seemed, laid entirely on obtaining the highly specific ingredients and determining the combination of the ingredients in the first place. She had yet to ask Mr. Weasley exactly how he came across the recipe or if he had invented it himself, but she’d made a note of that question in her journal and planned to ask him when she saw him again. She figured that it would be a better story to hear in person.

They climbed eagerly into the warmth of the first taxi that stopped, buckling their seat belts and giving directions to Marge’s farm only 20 minutes out of the city. They knew exactly where they were going, exactly how long it would take to get there, and exactly how long they had before their Polyjuice potion wore off. They were not taking any chances this time. Hermione had set an internal timer to keep them on track, knowing that they would have just under two hours to drive to the farm, meet with Marge, find out how old her dogs were, and get out.

They had spent the last three days staking out his aunt’s farm, examining the surroundings, returning to their tent to discuss their plan of action in the North, and then sneaking into the farm at night to see what dogs she had. Based on their investigation, they found that Marge had three black bulldogs, and while she may not have given a crap about Harry (or most other people for that matter), she seemed to truly love her dogs, and she took good care of them. The dogs lived in what looked to be a newly renovated barn, which could hardly be called a barn, as it was heated, insulated, had running water, bathroom facilities, and was very much a second house for the dogs on her property.

The only problem was that they had no idea how old the dogs were, and there was no age-revealing spell that they could simply cast to figure it out. So, after deliberating over how to proceed the previous morning, they finally decided that the best course of action was to call and pose as potential buyers, then ask Marge for more information on her dogs. They had never intended to actually tour the farm. Hermione had tried to ask about the different dogs that Marge owned while on the phone, but Marge had outright refused to give out any details on her animals. She firmly stated that all interested and prospective buyers had to come to the farm for a visit – and muttered that giving out information on how they were fed, their ages, and their training would be revealing ‘tricks of the trade’ and that she was ‘not going to give away any secrets’. 

Harry had thumped his head against the phone booth wall in frustration while Hermione acquiesced and quickly covered for why her voice would be different the next day – claiming to be the cousin of a lady interested in a new puppy and setting up the appointment on her behalf. So here they sat, Harry bundled in a thick burgundy jacket, bulldog brooch sparkling on his chest in the midday sun while Hermione, his niece, sat wearing a green jumper with a bear on it, a blue child’s coat, and a pink pompom hat that complimented her blonde braided pigtails. 

The drive to the farm was quick, but they knew it would be. They would have apparated directly onto the farm for their appointment, but of course, things were never that simple. Aunt Marge’s farm was extremely open in the front, with a clear view of the road and oncoming traffic due to the barren winter landscape. There was absolutely no way they could apparate to the end of her drive without being seen in the middle of the day. The road she lived on was also rather quiet, so it would be incredibly suspicious if they arrived sans car, given that Marge would be able to hear the oncoming traffic from within her house and would be expecting to hear them arrive.

Though, Hermione thought as she gazed at her unfamiliar hands. Those are the trivial details in the grand scheme of things. 

The most concerning aspect about their mission to Marge’s, and the detail that had disturbed their minds and set them on edge for the last two weeks, was that Marge lived on the outskirts of Birmingham – the epicenter of the werewolf activity.

Of course she lives in fucking Birmingham, Hermione grumbled internally as she peered out the window at the approaching farm and revisited the foolishness of going to the middle of their ‘no apparate zone’ to get 8 ounces of dog drool. Birmingham was undeniably the center of the werewolf activity, and they had been actively avoiding going anywhere near it for weeks. Finding bulldogs in England wasn’t difficult – but finding a purebred black English bulldog that was exactly between two years old and two and a half years old wasn’t easy.

They had considered breaking into a vet’s office to review through client files or checking the papers to see if there were any dogs listed for sale – but that would be incredibly time-consuming, and they wouldn’t be able to guarantee the dog was purebred. Hermione was unsure whether or not that actually mattered for the antivenom, but she wasn’t willing to take any chances. 

They had also considered calling around to a few animal shelters or popping in to see if they had any up for adoption, but this had the same issue and would take them months to complete. Not to mention the colossal amount of Polyjuice potion that would require. Hermione had already tried calling a few places over the last two weeks, and out of the twelve shelters that she called, only one had a black bulldog, but they had no idea how old he was. This left them with the exclusive option of finding a breeder who could guarantee the breed and the age, and Harry’s aunt was as much of a surefire solution as they could get.

Unwilling to put themselves in more danger than they needed to and wanting to avoid any surprise encounters in town, they had apparated directly onto the farm the first night while disillusioned. They hadn’t cared about the sound of their arrival. They had been fully prepared to bail if they were noticed, but they covered themselves with the invisibility cloak and cast their shield charms just in case. Then, they snooped around to locate the dogs and survey the area. Each movement they made was careful; each footstep vanished from the snow, and every ten feet, they cast detection charms to check for any unwanted visitors. They disapparated back to the far North end of England once they had gathered their information and camped in the deep blizzard while they made their game plan. 

During their second trip to the farm to look at the dogs, Hermione borrowed some of the local newspapers from Marge’s recycle bins next to the house, bringing them back to the tent to read in hopes of finding additional information on the attacks. The findings had been sobering and were yet another unpleasant cherry on top of the harrowing cake of panic that Hermione did not need.

The volume of missing persons accounts was disturbing. Police were urging people to stay in at night and travel in groups. Most of the attacks seemed to happen between midnight and 3 am. People were often last seen around bars or popular nightclub areas, and so far, anyone who had gone missing had yet to be located. Right now, the Police were attributing the attacks to drug violence. They reported that they were increasing their K-9 searches and had begun to post officers around the popular bars. Though they strongly urged people not to go out if they could help it. After reading through the news, they decided that travelling during the day would be safer than at night despite how uncomfortable it made them. Going out during the day was their best bet at avoiding another werewolf encounter.

After they had begrudgingly admitted that they would need to call Marge to get the dog’s age, they apparated directly into Birmingham in the morning while under the disguise of Polyjuice so that they could place the phone call. Following the conversation with Marge and knowing they would have to go see her the next day, they cautiously explored the outskirts of Birmingham to find the most efficient location to apparate to the following day. They needed to reserve as much time as possible to be disguised while on Marge’s farm and factor in the length of time a taxi ride would take. After walking nervously down the street hand in hand as an elderly couple, they managed to find the perfect spot. It was away from the nightclub area of the city, located near a 24-hour grocery store that looked to be constantly busy and it was only several minutes away from the farm. Standing unassumingly by the bus stop as they surveyed the area, they even managed to grab several more hair samples from unsuspecting patrons for future Polyjuice disguises. With the new samples, they had gained two more disguises each before Hermione would need to brew another batch. 

As it happened, their trip to Birmingham would have been required nonetheless, and it would now become even more dangerous. The snakeweed that they needed only grew near water, and according to Hermione’s potion book, it only grew natively in England around the Birmingham canal region on the South-West. 

Hermione had groaned loudly and slumped in her chair when she read the page in her book dedicated to snakeweed. Her reaction drew Harry’s attention away from his book, and she had turned to him in defeat asking: Why Harry? Why is this our life? 

It was as if the world believed her cake of panic didn’t have enough cherries on it already. She had been feeling the tension build in her body for months, but it was as if the full weight of the war had landed on her shoulders in the last two weeks.

Of course Snakeweed could be obtained from apothecaries or potentially even greenhouses if you knew of a herbologist who grew it. But based on how their last endeavour went, they weren’t exactly itching to break into another apothecary any time soon. Besides, Hermione’s continued communications with Mr. Weasley made it abundantly clear that robbing another apothecary was out of the question. Many apothecaries were now being watched, their stocks monitored, and some had even closed their doors altogether as the Death Eaters began locking down potion supplies in an effort to gain the upper hand in the war. In a lot of ways, breaking into another apothecary would be more dangerous than entering Birmingham during the day to locate natural growing snakeweed. 

Coming back at fifteen minutes after midnight to harvest it… well, that would be a different story. The only thing Hermione could do to try and limit the danger they were about to put themselves in was to locate snakeweed farthest away from the areas that the Police had flagged as hot zones for disappearances.

Though really, danger is pretty much a given at this point, Hermione rolled her eyes to herself before the cab came to a stop. 

She paid the driver quickly and hopped out behind Harry. Everything about what they were doing felt wrong, and she could feel the fear settling deep in her bones. The farm looked different during the daytime, almost pleasant in comparison as the sun reflected across the white snow. It was nothing like the creepy shadows that lingered across the open front yard in the darkness. 

She side glanced at Harry, who was doing his absolute best not to scowl under his ever-growing tension and took his arm before making their way up the long driveway. If it wasn’t for the fact that such a terrible lady owned the land, that they were in the epicenter of werewolf attacks and kidnappings, and that the war seemed to be consuming them whole – the farm would be rather nice.

-x-x-

“Hello, I’m glad that you made it – oh, my, what a beautiful brooch! I have two myself – a fawn and a red brindle. I just adore them.” Marge’s deep voice greeted them as she opened her front door. They hadn’t even knocked, and she had already appeared, confirming their suspicion that she would be watching for their arrival.

“Ah yes, my lovely niece Stephanie got me this one for Christmas,” Harry said as he shook his aunt’s firm hand and turned to smile at Hermione, who was standing shyly beside him. He hoped she knew that she did not need to impress Marge for any reason other than to obtain information.

“Oh lovely, lovely.” Marge completely ignored Hermione and motioned for Harry to come inside her house. “So, you’re interested in purchasing the best breed of dog on the planet, huh? Just leave your shoes on – we’ll be back outside in a moment!”

“Oh yes!” Harry said, feigning excitement as he followed Marge down the hall and out through the patio door that faced the renovated barn. Why they didn’t just walk around the outside of the house was beyond him, but he kept his mouth shut and crossed his fingers that they did not run into Ripper. He didn’t feel much like getting his leg mauled today. “I just adore bulldogs – and my cousin Bethany, the one you spoke to on the phone – she said that you would be a good person to contact. I was so glad that she could set up this appointment.”

“Too right she was! I don’t usually toot my own horn, but I happen to have the best bitches in the region – probably the country! They make the best pups you’ve ever seen, excellent health, and perfect temperament.”

Harry bit his tongue, unable to stop his eyes from rolling at his aunt’s absurd comment. 

Yeah right, you don’t like to toot your own horn – what a lying old coot, he thought bitterly as he followed Marge toward the barn that he and Hermione had already visited twice.

“Oh, I’m so excited to see them!” Hermione wiggled in excitement as they reached the doors of the barn, and Marge pulled out a key. She was doing a much better job at acting than he was. He was only barely keeping his comments to himself.

“Oh yes – that reminds me. You’re not looking to get a dog for your niece Sofie are you? Because like I already told Bethany on the phone, I don’t sell to children. Not these bulldogs, no ma’am – these are top tier, high-quality dogs, and they need a firm hand.”

“Goodness no,” Harry waved his hand as if that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. Knowing that it was not worth correcting Marge on Hermione’s fake name. “She wouldn’t even know what to do with them. She’s just visiting me over the weekend and wanted to come to see them with me – you know how young kids are.”

Hermione smiled up at Marge politely, but didn’t make a peep.

“Good, good. Just make sure you keep your hands to yourself, Sofie,” Marge nodded, holding the door open for them to enter and looking sternly at Hermione’s small figure as she passed. “I never asked this on the phone; I much prefer to speak in person – you can tell a lot about a person from their stature and how they present themselves. Like you, I can tell you don’t put up with crap – it’s good to see that your niece Stacy here actually listens to you. I have a nephew myself who’s as rotten as they come. Ungrateful, lazy – a real piece of work. I keep waiting for the day I find out he’s gotten himself arrested – deadbeat like his parents. Now tell me, have you owned any bulldogs before?”

Harry gritted his teeth, his fists clenching firmly at his side as he tried to control the raging anger inside him. How many other complete strangers had this woman said these things to? How often did she tell people that he and his parents were deadbeats? The arrogance and blatant malice of this woman was unbelievable.

“Yes, I’ve had four over the course of my life. After Brutus passed away, I’m afraid it hit me rather hard. It’s been two years – but I think I’m finally ready for another.” Harry toughened his jaw as he spoke, his long fingernails biting into his skin.

It looked as though he was swallowing down the show of emotion over the loss of his imaginary dog. Though really, he was choking down his temper and resisting his urge to blow Marge up for a second time – perhaps permanently so. It took every ounce of his self-control not to test out some of his new wandless magic.

He felt Hermione brush his arm gently in support as they followed Marge inside the familiar barn and toward the dog kennels at the back. He needed to stay calm, needed to keep his temper in check.

Breathe, just breathe, he chanted as he closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath. 

They only needed to find out if any of her three black bulldogs were between two years and two and a half years old. Then they could get the hell out of there. Maybe he could obliviate his aunt so that they could just apparate away instantly instead of taking another taxi. 

In fact, I think I’ll obliviate her anyways, he thought as they closed the distance to the pen of bulldog puppies that were running around happily. The last thing they needed was any sort of connection between them and this city. Not to mention that it would be incredibly satisfying to wipe his aunt’s mind.

“I can understand that. Dear lord, I don’t know what I’ll do when Ripper passes away. Sometimes I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to continue the work that I do here. But I think I must – it’s important to ensure the standards are maintained. I fear if I quit, people would be limited to a rather poor selection of mutts,” Marge said as she came to a stop at the pen and gestured down to the dogs with a look of pure self-satisfaction. “Well, here we are. So far only red, green, and blue are spoken for – the rest are available. Assuming that you are indeed qualified to purchase one.”

“Yes, of course,” Harry answered, unclenching his hands to lean on the fenced-in area and peer down at the puppies. He noticed that they each had different coloured collars. He assumed this was how she told them apart without assigning names. “You can’t just let anyone purchase a pup – some people have no idea what they’re doing.”

“Too right you are, I’m afraid.” Marge nodded seriously as she gazed at her prized animals.

“So, who are the parents?” Harry asked, turning to face Marge with a serious look and wanting to get this over and done with. He assumed that the only adult dog in the pen with the puppies right now was the mother. She was probably there to help teach them manners, but unfortunately, she was a fawn colour.

“Well, that would be Max and Tully – two of my finest if I do say so myself. Yes, they’re great dogs. Bred them myself four years back.”

Shit, Harry thought as he absently nodded. Max was one of the black bulldogs they had seen when they snooped around the barn, but Marge had just indicated he was four years old. Tully must be the fawn-coloured mother; she looked like a good dog, but she wasn’t what they needed. That meant that their options were down to the two remaining black dogs: Radar and Scout.

“Aw, they’re perfect! Do you have many other bulldogs, ma’am?” Hermione asked politely, eyes wide and hands clasped tightly in front of her. She had placed her hands there the second Marge told her to keep them to herself, and she was eagerly looking up at Marge and making a play at her ego.

“Yes, I do, Sofie! I have ten adults right now, excluding Ripper, who is too old to breed at this point,” Marge said proudly, waving her hand to the side where the other dogs were snoozing contentedly in their own kennels. Calling them kennels was a massive misrepresentation of what they were though, they were like cozy little rooms. Evidently, Marge believed in giving her dogs the best treatment possible. “Usually, they’re out in the yard, but with the cold we’ve had over the last few days, I’ve been keeping them inside. They still get out for a couple of hours a day – but if truth be told, I think they’d rather be inside for the winter.”

“Oh, wow.” Hermione beamed as she approached Radar’s kennel and crouched down to look at him. “What a gorgeous dog.”

“Ah yes! She has a good eye, doesn’t she?” Marge grinned at Harry before she walked proudly over to Hermione, who was maintaining a respectable distance from Radar’s door. “So well behaved – gosh my nephew could learn a thing or two from you, Stacy! Radar here is one of the best, great lineage and top-notch health. You could not ask for a better dog. I haven’t bred him yet – he just had his second birthday two months ago, but I’ll be getting a litter out of him in the summer.”

“Perfect,” Harry said tightly, and he stepped away from the dog pen. His patience was failing him, they had the information they needed, and he was done listening to his aunt blow smoke out her ass. “Well, these dogs look wonderful – but Sofie, I think we should go. We’ll think things over at home and then be in touch.”

“Well, just hold on now.” A look of irritation split across Marge’s face, and Harry knew things were about to get ugly. “You better not have come all the way out here to waste my time. I happen to be a very busy woman, you know, and I don’t like being jerked around! You’re already here, you might as well fill out a form even though at this point it’s not like you’re going to get app–”

Marge’s face went blank, and she slumped to the floor.

“Really, Harry?” Hermione turned to look at him as she stood from her crouched position. She looked tired as she moved, and Harry knew the stress from everything was starting to wear on her.

“What? We got the information we needed,” Harry shrugged as he walked over to his aunt’s round form and propped her up against the wall next to the puppy pen. It was more than she deserved. “It’s just a stupefy. She’ll be fine. We can wipe her memory and then leave – don’t you think it’s better not to have any ties to this place?”

“Yes.” She fished a vial from her purse, handing it to Harry. He could tell that she was trying to remain in control, trying to be a bigger person than Marge and behave properly. “Just maybe we could have been a little more tactful, no?”

“Maybe,” Harry accepted the vial and waited for Hermione to pull the cooked chicken from her bag. “But it doesn’t really matter if we’re wiping her memory anyway – there was no point in dragging it out and listening to her rant. Things would have gotten nasty – besides, now we can apparate away directly and avoid another taxi ride.”

“You’re right,” Hermione sighed as she pulled the chicken from her bag and gave him a sad smile. She looked defeated and shook her head with a scoff. “Merlin, she’s a pompous ass, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, I believe I tried to warn you about that.” Harry smiled as he knelt down next to the kennel where Hermione had taken a seat.

“Sometimes it blows my mind that you turned out the way you did, you know?” Hermione pushed the bowl of cooked chicken through the bars and patted Radar on the head.

She had written back to Mr. Weasley after he sent the antivenom recipe to clarify if the chicken needed to be raw or cooked, and how long after the dog ate it that they needed to wait until they could collect the drool. He had clarified that it needed to be a chicken breast cooked plain and that the saliva could be taken immediately after the dog had eaten. Apparently, this worked best since the dog would already be drooling.

“I think a lot of people would have turned out bitter, jaded, or angry–”

“Like snakeface?” Harry prompted, raising a brow as he too patted Radar gently on the head.

He’d taken to calling You Know Who by various different names after Mr. Weasley informed them via the magazine about the trace placed on Voldemort’s that would summon snatchers immediately to the location that the name was uttered. Harry had vehemently refused to call him You Know Who and play into the fear-mongering and instead often referred to him as snakeface, red-eyes, Tom, or dipshit on occasion.

“Harry, you’re nothing like him.”

“I’m not like how he is now, no, but Dumbledore showed me some of his memories, Hermione. Tom had a shit childhood. He felt neglected, struggled to find his place – I guess I’m sort of agreeing with you. I could have become bitter, and I could have potentially even become just like him. I think the only reason why I didn’t was because of you, Ron, Dumbledore, and Sirius. You guys kept me on track. And you never let me get away with being a mopey ass.”

Hermione laughed as she smiled at him.

“Maybe,” she said quietly. “I’m sure that more things factor into it than that. I think you have a good soul, Harry. You’re truly a good person and – Ugh c’mon, this is gross.”

Hermione’s eyes darted back to the vial she was holding and the giant flow of drool dripping down her arm. She’d taken the large vial back from Harry once Radar was done eating and stuck it under his jowls while she scratched his head with her free hand. But Radar was completely unaware that his drool needed to be collected so it could be part of an extremely important potion that may save lives, so he was panting and whining and wiggling around while he soaked up the attention. His whole butt was moving violently side to side as he wagged his stub, and the drool was missing the vial.

“Here,” Harry said, chuckling as he vanished the drool from her arm.

“What I’m trying to get at, Harry,” Hermione said, bringing the vial away from the dog and turning back to Harry. “Is that sometimes I forget just how terrible things were for you before you came to Hogwarts – and well, I’m just glad you’re who you are. I’m glad that I met you, and I’m glad that you’re you.”

“I’m glad I met you too,” Harry smiled, squeezing her forearm gently before taking the vial from her. Her words tugged across his heart, and it brought up the uneasiness within him that he’d been experiencing all week.

The dogs around them started to bark, clearly jealous of the chicken that Radar had received. Their whines echoed around the barn as their butts wiggled in excitement, each of them wanting some attention, sniffing the air in the hope of treats. Apparently, Ripper was the only violent dog that Marge had. 

Makes sense why he’s her favourite, Harry thought as he surveyed the barn one last time. They needed to get out of there before anyone else came by to check on the dogs. Harry handed Hermione back her wand.

“You’re better at memory charms, I’ll store this, and you can wipe the last two days from Marge.”

“Deal,” Hermione said, quickly standing to go and tend to Marge.

It only took Hermione a few minutes to wipe Marge’s memories of their interactions over the last two days and confund her so that she would think she fell asleep while sitting and visiting with the puppies. Long before she would wake up, Hermione and Harry exited the barn and apparated away to the safety of the North.

-x-x-

While Harry was thrilled with the success of their first task and pleased that they were now one step closer to brewing the antivenom potion, he was dreading their return to Birmingham to get the snakeweed at midnight. The last few days had been incredibly dangerous, but returning at midnight to a known werewolf-infested area felt like a suicide mission. He didn’t like it. He felt heavy, like a bad omen was weighing down on him and bringing a sharpness to the tight pain in his chest that had been building the last few weeks.

He watched as Hermione puttered around the potions lab, writing notes in her journal and prepping all the ingredients that she could while muttering to herself. She had been writing a lot of notes lately, more than usual. He couldn’t focus on his book and instead sat there watching her in silence. He felt like he was wasting his time, watching minutes of their lives just tick away while he had no assurance that they would still be alive tomorrow.

“Hermione?” He asked after another whole minute had ticked by, and he was unable to read a single letter on the open page before him.

“Yeah?” Hermione looked up from her notes, the ingredients she was categorizing laid out in front of her.

“You’re sure that snakeweed doesn’t grow anywhere else?” The words pained him as he said them. He already knew the answer, yet he could not stop himself from asking. He was being cowardly, anxious, selfish – wishing to bide their way out of what they both knew they had to do.

“Harry,” Hermione said sadly, her voice low. She didn’t look irritated by his question. She knew why he was asking, and she understood why he was concerned. She shared the same fears, but they’d both been dealing with them separately and allowing their own tensions to build. “You know it doesn’t, we both looked through the same book – it was also mentioned in Professor Snape’s class in fifth year. Even if it did grow somewhere else – I wouldn’t know where to start looking. We could waste months of time trying to find it, and apothecaries are out of the question.”

“I know, I know,” Harry shook his head and ran a hand over his face into his hair while trying to shake the dark uneasiness that encircled him. 

His hair had become so unmanageable, constantly falling in his face while he read that he’d tossed it up into a bizarre and messy ponytail to keep it out of his eyes. It stuck out of the hair tie at odd angles, making him look like an anime character as the unfamiliar weight of it gave him a headache. He really needed to just cut it. He didn’t care what it looked like, but he needed to lob it off. Neither one of them knew any hair spells, though, and none of the books that Hermione had brought contained any such magic. Tomorrow he would bust out the kitchen scissors while they brewed and take care of this problem in one clean cut.

He let out a sigh.

He felt tired, more tired than he had in weeks, and he was frustrated and annoyed. They had been making good progress with the potions, preparation, and training – but Mr. Weasley’s replies about the Order’s war efforts had rattled him. The situation at Hogwarts felt like a burn on his soul, and his mind was constantly being ravaged by a sense of doom.

“I just – we got lucky the last few days popping in and out of Birmingham,” Harry said slowly, his expression tight with worry as he looked at Hermione. “Well, maybe some of it had to do with us being better prepared and smarter with our movements – but still, luck, was definitely a factor and I don’t want to rely on luck. I just can’t stand it that we’re once again going somewhere that we know is dangerous.”

“I know, Harry,” Hermione said, her voice soft as she spoke. She set down the quill in her hands and walked out of the lab towards him, kneeling before him on the soft rug of the tent floor and gripping his hands with her own. “I know this sucks. But what else can we do? We need to make that antivenom. Nagini is going to be where he is, and we have to confront him eventually. I don’t see any other way around this.”

“Neither do I,” he sighed in frustration, dropping his forehead down to lean against hers.

He felt so trapped. He was terrified to go back to Birmingham after what happened with the last two werewolf encounters, and based on the conversation they overheard outside of the apothecary – things were getting worse. He knew he was being moody and unreasonable. He was overtired, stressed, and irritated with their situation simply for it being what it was. 

He knew that his feelings didn’t change what they had to do – they would go to Birmingham to get the snakeweed tonight, and he would need to find a way to deal with the anxiety pumping through his veins. He knew that Hermione was nervous too. She’d been jittery for the last two weeks and training extra hard to try and distract herself. It was taking a visible toll on her, and he knew that they both needed to calm down.

He let out a deep breath. 

Everything about this was infuriating, and all he could think about now was, what if they weren’t prepared? What if they weren’t strong enough? What if everything they had done up until now wasn’t enough, and they failed? What if something happened to Hermione? How would he cope with that after knowing what their relationship together could be – how would he live with that? He could feel his heart begin to race as the questions assaulted his already weakened mind, and he gripped Hermione’s hands tighter.

“Will you promise me something?” He asked slowly, already knowing that what he was asking was impossible. It went against every fiber of her being, and he didn’t even know why he was trying to go down this road.

“Mmm?” Her eyes were closed as she continued to lean her forehead against his and rubbed small circles across the back of his hand with her thumb.

He wasn’t surprised that she didn’t automatically agree. Harry had known that she wouldn’t. She was waiting to see what it was he wanted. She was too clever, too kind, and too giving to agree blindly. From the way she was holding his hands, Harry could tell that she knew he was anxious. She knew that he was feeling desperate and defeated. She likely even knew exactly where this conversation was headed and was fully prepared to reject his request – yet he continued walking down the path anyway, because he needed to get the words out so he could relieve some of the pressure off his chest.

“Promise me that you’ll keep yourself safe, Hermione. If things go badly, whether it be tonight or the next night – keep yourself safe.” He pulled his head back to look her in the eyes, searching their warm depths and feeling a pain across his chest. “Apparate away if you need to – I’m not asking you to abandon the war, I just–”

“You’re just asking me to abandon you. If something happens – you’re asking me to leave you, Harry.” She was looking at him fiercely, her eyes glinting from the light of the tent as the dimness of evening settled in. “No, Harry. My answer is no, and it will always be no.”

“Hermione.” Harry frowned. He knew that she wouldn’t agree; he had expected it. She would do what she always did – stick by him through thick and thin and fight until the end. It was like he couldn’t get across the emotion he was feeling with his words. He couldn’t wrap his own head around what he wanted. “I’m not asking you to just leave me – I’m saying if something happens, and if I can’t be saved – you need to save yourself. You’ll be the only one left who knows what to do to win the war.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“You don’t know that, Hermione. We have no idea how this will end – and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you.”

“Well, now that just doesn’t make any sense at all – you were talking about if something happened to you and you couldn’t be saved. If something did happen to you, you’d be dead, Harry – so you wouldn’t be living with knowing something happened to me,” Hermione said defiantly. She was almost glaring at him now, and Harry could see her own inner turmoil bubbling over. “Don’t you think I’d feel the same way? If something happened to you, Harry, and I didn’t try to help you – I would never be able to live with that. I can live with knowing that I might die in this war, but I can’t live with knowing that I gave up on you. I’m not an idiot, Harry, I’m not going to do anything stupid or reckless for no reason, but I’m never going to abandon you to save myself!”

“Hermione, don’t get mad. I–”

“I’m not getting mad!” Hermione retorted. Her face was flushed, and she was gripping his hands like a vice.

“Well, you’re getting upset.”

“Yes, I’m getting upset – I’m getting upset because you’re talking as if you think you’re going to die tonight, Harry. And that’s not going to happen – I’m not going to let that happen.”

“And that’s exactly what I’m afraid of!” Harry snapped, grabbing her wrists and pulling her up from her heels so she was stretching from her knees on the ground, and their eyes met on the same level. “Don’t think I haven’t figured out what’s been going through your head, Hermione. You’ve already decided that your role in this is to aid me no matter what the cost to yourself is!”

He had noticed the change after the Sword of Gryffindor. The increased number of notes Hermione had been taking in her journal, how she had been writing out potions with step-by-step instructions, showing him how to use everything in her purse, and teaching him how to use the magazine for communication with Mr. Weasley. He knew that she was helping him prepare for war like he had asked her to long ago after the werewolf had attacked her, and Harry had sworn to become stronger and more competent. But he wasn’t stupid. He knew that she was also preparing him so that he would be able to continue alone if anything ever happened to her.

“Yes,” Hermione admitted, her eyes flashing with anger as she refused to look away from him. “Because this is bigger than me, Harry. You know that! This has always been bigger than us! This is about so much more than trying to get out of this alive. See – this right here, what you’re doing – this is exactly why I was afraid of being in a relationship while in the middle of a war! Wars have sacrifices, Harry, and you can’t fight this properly if you’re constantly worried about losing me. Dumbledore knew that too! Do you really think he could have been defeated that night on the tower? I don’t know what was going on or what his plans were, but I know he died on purpose. And I know it was because he understood that sometimes sacrifices have to be made!”

“Alright, fine! Let’s call it like it is then – I’m being selfish! You’re right! I don’t want anything to happen to you in the war. I can’t lose you, and I’m sure as hell not going to let you sacrifice yourself for me!” Harry was practically yelling as he clutched Hermione’s wrists to his chest, and she glared up at him.

The tension that had been building in the tent for the last two weeks was reaching critical levels. Harry could not remember the last time he and Hermione had fought, though he wasn’t sure he would call this fighting. They were both just angrily yelling what they already knew to each other. They were so frustrated, so exhausted, so stressed, so plagued by their situation, so desperate to keep each other alive, and so unwilling to even consider losing each other as a possibility – all while knowing it could very well happen.

“I am not going to abandon you, Harry,” Hermione said tightly. “Not ever. I’m never going to step aside in this war!”

“Ugh – that’s not what I’m asking you to do! I’m not asking you to step aside!” Harry’s head was pounding; he couldn’t rationalize his thoughts and get his emotions into words. “You know I would never ask that!”

That was the truth. 

He would never ask her to stand aside in the war or go into hiding so she wouldn’t get hurt. He trusted her skill, and he knew that their only chance of winning the war was to work together until the end. He just could not shake the awful feeling that had been building in his chest at the thought of returning to Birmingham. He knew it was a buildup of anxiety from the trauma of their past encounters and the fear that haunted him every day – the fear that constantly told him he still might not be enough to protect her. He couldn’t deal with the idea of losing her because she wouldn’t abandon him, but he didn’t want her to leave either.

“Then what do you want me to do, Harry?!” She yelled, eyes wide and angry as she strained herself taller and leaned into his space.

“I don’t know!!”

Harry felt a wave of emotion snap within him. He all but lunged towards Hermione and crashed his lips against hers, kissing her desperately as his hands dropped their hold on her wrists so they could wrap around her small frame. She grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged him from the couch, pulling him down to the rug on the floor as she opened her mouth to kiss him more deeply. 

He settled between her legs. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stop. He felt like his heart was going to explode in his chest as he kissed her like it was the last thing he would do on Earth. He was desperate, terrified, weak and starved for her touch. It had been so long since they had done anything physical. They were too focused on preparing for war and too physically injured from their fall at the apothecary to do anything these past weeks. His bruises had only just healed in the last few days.

Hermione gripped his shoulder tightly, her opposite hand going to his waist and pulling him against her as she pushed her hips up. He didn’t know what was going through her head, but neither one of them stopped. This was like nothing he had ever experienced before, like nothing they had ever done. Every movement was urgent and hungry. Hermione pulled at his shirt trying to get him closer. He trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck as he ground his hips into hers and she groaned into his ear. 

They were both overstrained, both terrified of what was to come and determined not to lose one another – even though they both knew they were playing the same game. Harry ripped his shirt off the remainder of the way as Hermione tugged hers up and over her head. He wanted to feel her. He needed to be as close to her as humanly possible. He needed to feel her warm skin against his and know that she was there.

“Harry,” she panted in his ear as her hands worked on his belt. Her voice was throaty with need. “Harry, please – I need you.”

Their motions became frenzied as Harry shucked off his pants, and Hermione undid her own. Harry sat back and grabbed at the ankles of her jeans to pull them down her legs with her panties before Hermione grabbed his neck again and pulled him back down, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. He groaned into her mouth, twisting his hand into her hair and grinding his hard length against her core as she keened. 

She was already wet. 

His body shivered as his cock slid easily against her slick folds. He wanted to push right into her, to feel the heat from her center surround him, but he gripped his hand on her waist tightly and stopped himself. He needed to slow down. They’d only done this once before, and they were both acting crazed. He wasn’t even sure how to categorize the emotions that were rushing through him as he hovered above her.

“Harry,” Hermione caught his gaze, grabbing both sides of his face to look at him intently. Her eyes were blazing. He could see the anguish that mirrored his own, and he knew that she was dealing with the same desperate wave of emotions he was. “Harry, please.”

Both of them had been completing their own secret missions to ensure that the other would be fine. Harry – teaching Hermione violent offensive spells while working tirelessly to improve their shield spell. Taking any opportunity he could to throw himself between Hermione and danger like the fall out of the apothecary window. Hermione – improving Harry’s medical skills, teaching him to brew potions, and improving his duelling and wandless magic. Neither one of them was willing to let the other go. They refused to walk away and leave the other behind – but the crushing weight of the war was suffocating them, and it felt like they couldn’t escape.

He hesitated, and it was unbearable. He wanted her so badly. He felt like he needed her physically, to reassure himself that she was there with him and that he wouldn’t lose her. But he was nervous he might hurt her with the craze they were in.

“Harry.” Her voice was firm, and it pulled him from the rolling turmoil within his own head. She was still holding one side of his face, but her other hand now gripped his hip tightly. She was staring up at him passionately. “I’m not going to lose you – do you hear me? Not ever. We’re in this together – whatever it takes. We’ll train harder. We’ll practice more. We’ll become whatever we have to be – do whatever we need to. I can’t lose you either.”

“I know.” His voice broke as he spoke, and he let Hermione guide him inside her.

A low hiss escaped his lips as she thrust her hips up to meet his. He lowered his head, capturing her lips once more as he moved within her, meeting the tempo that she set with the pressure she kept on his hips. It was faster than the first time, not reckless, but not gentle. She didn’t want him to be gentle. She was pushing upwards to meet each motion and kissing him back with matched desperation because that’s what they were right now – two desperate people caving under the enormity of the weight on their shoulders while refusing to give up.

Hermione moaned into his mouth, her back arching as Harry slid a hand between them to rub her clit. He wasn’t going to last long, but it seemed that she wasn’t either. The boiling tension was too much as both of them flexed their hips and gave into the feel. Hermione clung to his shoulders with each thrust. Her head dropped down to his neck, and her nails dug into his back.

“Hermione – I–” His words stuttered from his mouth as his breath came in pants. He couldn’t finish his sentence, Hermione had wrapped her legs around him and was quivering beneath him, and it sent his mind into overdrive.

He couldn’t hold on any longer.

“Harry, I’m going to – I’m going to come, fuck, Harry – don’t stop – don’t stop, I–” Hermione shuddered, and her head dropped back against the carpet. 

Harry felt her clench around him as her orgasm rippled through her, and his body tensed at the feeling. Her eyes were screwed shut, and her expression looked pained for a second before every muscle in her body relaxed. Harry felt his balls tighten, and he clamped his eyes shut as he came hard inside her. It was far more than he’d ever expected of himself in this scenario. He couldn’t believe that he had held out as long as he did, and he was shocked that she’d come while he was inside her. 

He collapsed on top of her, moving his lips along her jaw toward her temple as he continued to rock his hip while she came down from her high. He watched her breathe, the low rasps ghosting against his face as she held him tightly.

“This won’t be a weakness, Hermione,” Harry breathed across her cheek as he nuzzled his nose against hers, then repeated her words. “We’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes, Harry,” she whispered, placing a kiss along his jaw. “We just make sure that it never happens.”

“It won’t,” Harry whispered back, brushing the loose hair from the side of her face.

He held her gaze as he gripped her tight, revelling in the blissful feel of his orgasm as he remained embedded deep inside her. He meant it. He meant those words with every fiber of his being. He would become whatever he needed to be. Do whatever he needed to do. 

He would not lose her.

Warnings:

This chapter contains: Muggle mistreatment, violence against woman, blood, gore, implied rape, death, murder, and mercy killings that may be triggering.

Nothing was written in excess or for shock value, but some may find this chapter difficult and/or upsetting to read. As such, I have placed a two-sentence summary at the bottom of the chapter so that you can skip it if you wish.

******************************************

Hermione twisted her hands, working her thick curly hair into a braid down the back of her head as she tried to ignore the sick feeling that was once again festering in the pit of her stomach. It felt like years ago that she and Harry were lying naked in each other’s arms on the rug in the living room after having the most passionate, rough, and intense sex she had ever had. 

Well, the most intense sex I’ve had compared to the only other time I’ve had sex, Hermione thought as she finished off the braid and tied the end with a hair tie, knowing full well that her tenacious curls would escape their braided confines and her mane would return in full force.

She wasn’t sure how to articulate the tsunami of emotions that had come over them in the tent hours before, and specifically, she wasn’t sure how to describe what had crashed through her as they fucked on the living room floor. She had never put much thought into chronicling her sexual exploits or classifying the encounters differently before today, but now she realized that sex could happen in many different ways. Their first time had been more tender. She equated it to gentle lovemaking – innocent, cautious, and tame. 

It had been great. She loved the experience, and she was grateful that Harry had been so gentle with her through her first time. Today though… well, today was something entirely different. Today they ‘fucked'. It had been intense, aggressive, passionate, heated, and urgent. Completely different than the first time, yet everything that she needed it to be in that moment. She hadn’t been so bold with their sexual encounters previously, but today she could not stop herself. 

She had needed him. 

She needed him closer. She needed him on her. She needed him inside her. She had wanted to feel his skin against hers, to feel him push inside her and consume her lips while she gasped for air. She had tugged on his shirt in desperation, thrust herself against him, and clawed at his back angrily – the frustration at their situation feeding the anguish that raged through her. She had felt desperate, immensely turned on, and overwhelmed with an urgency to have him. 

She was afraid, but not of the heat between them or the roughness of their interaction, quite the opposite in fact. She was afraid of losing him, afraid that tonight may very well be their downfall. It was the same fear that she knew was consuming Harry. He was upset, stressed, and tormented with worry about what they were about to go do. Their argument, which could hardly even be called an argument, was the lit fuse to the fear and pressure that had been building around them for weeks. Then today, it exploded between them into a mess of hands and lips and skin moving against each other in a furious show of emotion that neither one of them could articulate with words.

They were terrified that they were going to their deaths tonight, terrified that they would lose despite all their efforts, and terrified that they would lose each other. It was exactly what Hermione had been worried about when they first started their relationship and when they first acknowledged their feelings. She had always been worried that they would reach a point where they both fell so deep into their feelings that they wouldn’t be able to accept the thought of losing the other. 

It worried her. It worried her that Harry might do something stupid to keep her alive or that she herself would not be able to let him go if it ever came down to it. But as their bodies collided, as she breathed him in, and desperately wrapped herself around him, tasting him, feeling his skin against hers – she knew it wasn’t a worry anymore. 

It was a fact. 

She would never let anything happen to him. She would never allow that to happen, because she couldn’t let me go.

She meant what she said to him before he pushed inside her. She meant it with every fiber of her being as she thrust up into him and called out his name. She had meant it when they laid there in each other’s arms on the floor after Harry came, and she knew that Harry meant it too – but she didn’t feel it resonate through her very core until afterwards, when they stood together in the shower surrounded by steam. 

They had laid quietly on the floor for almost an hour. Harry brushed his hand over her hair and down her back while she rested her cheek on his chest and traced circles across his skin. Neither one of them had spoken. They had let the silence surround them. Only the sound of the cold wind beating across the tent echoed in the quiet as she held him tightly and refused to let go, trying to extend their closeness and drag it out into infinity. It wasn’t until the heat between them had completely dissipated and Hermione had started to shiver that they finally pulled themselves apart and up off the floor. 

Then, hand in hand, Hermione had allowed Harry to lead her to the bathroom. Their feet padded softly against the cold wooden floors as she felt a heaviness fill the air between them and settle across her heart. It was the first time that they had ever taken a shower together, and while nothing else happened between them, the intimacy of it had rocked Hermione to her core. 

She’d never really looked at him naked before or stood before him completely bare for any significant length of time. She found her eyes tracing over his skin, memorizing every mark, every scar, and the way that his muscles flexed as he moved before her. She knew that he was doing the same thing, memorizing her so he would never forget and so that they knew each other by heart. There wasn’t an ounce of embarrassment. She felt no anxiety. The thick air between them was serious, sobering, and powerful. Somewhere deep within, she felt a part of her soul break as she looked up at Harry through the steam and her eyes scanned over his solemn expression and resolute eyes. 

She loved this man. 

She loved Harry more than she ever thought it was possible to care for another human being.

She could no longer picture her life without him. He deserved to live, and the burden of her earlier words suddenly sunk deep within her chest. She felt the weight of it ache in her heart worse than when she had been split open by the werewolf as a wave of fierce conviction washed through her body. She felt the tightness pull across her chest as Harry lowered his head and kissed her slowly, the water running down his back and splashing across her face as she gripped him tightly.

She would do anything to keep him alive. 

They would do anything to keep each other safe – whatever it took, whatever the cost, she would pay it. They would win this war. Together they would fight until their last dying breaths, and they would become whatever they needed to be in order to do it. She would do it not only because it was her only shot at ensuring Harry lived but also because it was their only prospect of winning the war. 

Months ago, Harry had taught her sectumsempra just in case because he understood that You Know Who and his followers would never play by the rules. They would never show any mercy. There would be no humanity, no integrity… and You Know Who would win because of that. Because his people were willing to sacrifice anything for their cause. It was something that they had both always known.

After the Battle on the Hillside, the final remains of her naivety had been shattered. With each day that followed, she started to contemplate what she would be willing to sacrifice for the war. The coldness of their reality crept through her heart day by day, hardening her from the inside out. Hermione knew that she was willing to sacrifice her own life if necessary, but she still struggled to accept that she may need to take a life. 

Even after killing the snatcher on the Hillside, she had a difficult time with it. She was constantly conflicted by her own morals and integrity. Until that moment, she had been unsure of her ever-changing personal boundaries and where they would fall as they navigated the hostility of the war. 

But as she stood naked before Harry in the shower, the doubt that lingered within her washed away. She felt herself tremble under his lips as the hardness that had been slowly encircling her heart finally encased the organ completely and started to wrap her body in a cold, detached shell.

She would sell her very soul to the dark arts if she had to. 

She would crush anything that stood in their way. 

When it came to You Know Who and his devotees, she would abandon her morality, bury her decency, and use whatever means necessary to succeed because it was the only way they stood a chance. This foolish childhood dream of defeating evil with righteous good and integrity would cost them the war and the lives of many innocent wizards and muggles. They would be destroyed if she continued to hold any doubts or hesitations. 

She was becoming a tool in this war, and if she was willing to die, then she should be willing to give anything else required. If she lived through this, she would accept and deal with the consequences of her actions when it was over. Until then, she what do whatever she had to.

She pushed the thoughts aside as she glanced over at Harry. 

He was pacing back and forth in the snow, his long hair still held in a dishevelled ponytail that jutted out the back of his head while some of the shorter bits at the front framed his face. It was definitely a non-traditional look, it was maybe even a bit peculiar, but in a strange way, it suited him. It matched the grit of their living conditions and the battle-worn appearance he now carried with him. He looked nothing like the boy he used to be during their 6th year at Hogwarts or their easy summer at the Burrow. In fact, calling him the boy who lived felt a bit ridiculous now; he was definitely not a boy. Harry had long since become a man.

There was a hardness to his jaw in the way that he clenched it. There was a ferocity to the determination in his eyes that made his well-built frame look larger than it was while giving off an intimidating vibe. It was such a stark contrast to how he used to look that she silently wondered if people would recognize him without a double-take because he looked like Harry in a different body. His broad shoulders, strong stance, and intense expression made the air around him feel powerful. He looked exactly how Hermione felt on the inside, like someone who was ready to give anything, take anything, and do anything to finish this war.

She checked her internal timer, there was only another 5 minutes left before they would be apparating out of the cold, desolate forest and back into Birmingham. During their previous nerve-racking trips, Hermione had located two naturally growing snakeweed sites along the Birmingham canal that were far enough away from the werewolf activity and disappearances that she felt somewhat safe using to collect their ingredients. They didn’t want to spend more time there than necessary, just a simple in and out operation to collect what they needed and then return to the North. Though she wanted to leave enough time to apparate to the second site in case the snakeweed was already harvested, dead, or god only knows what else could go wrong. So, had they agreed to show up at 12:10 am under a disillusionment spell so they could assess the snakeweed and get into position. This left enough time for them to apparate to the second site if necessary.

It was now 12:06 am, and they were both anxiously waiting until exactly 12:10 am to make their apparition. 

They had packed the tent up twenty minutes ago, cast several warming charms between themselves and now lingered near the rock that was providing them with shelter from the brunt force of the wind and snow that was blowing off the ocean only a few meters away. Harry had her wand; he was going to take guard position while she harvested the snakeweed with a freshly sharpened silver potions blade. She would cut the stock at exactly 12:15 am and store the snakeweed in the glass bottle that was hanging from a tie off her belt.

“Are you ready?” Hermione asked, her breath puffing out against the freezing air as she walked toward Harry. Only three minutes left.

“As ready as I’ll ever be – you have the knife?” Harry had finally stopped pacing and moved his way towards her.

“Yes, and the bottle – keep your hand on my neck while I harvest and if anything happens, we bail to the second site–”

“And if the second site isn’t safe, we leave, return here and come up with a new plan,” Harry finished reciting their plan with a nod. “My complete shield charm only lasts for seven minutes, yours for six – so we’ll cast them when we get there.”

“Right.” Hermione nodded as she reached out to take Harry’s hand, ignoring the bite of the cold against the fingers of her ungloved hand. “It is a Sunday night. Most disappearances seemed to have happened on Fridays or Saturdays while people were out at the bar. Or, to homeless people – but there aren’t any around this area, so we might get lucky and be able to get in and out quickly.”

“I hope so,” Harry breathed as he gripped Hermione’s hand tightly and stepped toward her. “How much longer?”

“One minute.”

“I’ll cast the disillusionments.”

“Okay.” She felt the familiar feeling of an egg being cracked over her head as Harry cast the charm on her first them himself. The seconds of her timer began counting down, and she felt her shoulders stiffen involuntarily. “Thirty seconds.”

This was it. 

They were about to return to Birmingham and get their final ingredient for the antivenom potion.

“Twenty.”

She just hoped that tonight would be uneventful.

“Ten.”

That tonight they would be lucky.

“Zero.”

-x-x-

A faint pop echoed out into the quiet night surrounding the Birmingham canal as Harry and Hermione appeared exactly where they intended to, right next to a thick growth of snakeweed on the water’s edge. They ducked immediately, Hermione casting a wordless silencing spell and a detection spell while Harry cast his own protective shield charm. They both still needed to cast the shield charm verbally, and the last thing she wanted was to attract unwanted attention from making any noise. 

Nothing showed up from her charm, so she remained crouched and still in the snakeweed while Harry finished his shield. Her eyes darted along the water, tracing up the path across the river before them that led up to an old part of town. Then they circled back around to look at the peaks of the houses behind them.

She quietly took her wand when Harry handed it to her and cast her own shield. They had yet to try casting them on each other – it was too risky, the last thing wanted was for Harry or herself to be caught inside a death bubble for six or seven minutes while the other stood there helpless and unable to dispel the charm. Once her shield was fully formed, she returned her wand to Harry and set a mental timer. She knew Harry would set his own, and she felt his cold hand slip under her braid to grip the back of her neck firmly while she began sliding the silver potions blade from her pocket.

“Nothing on the detection?” Harry whispered in her ear as he crouched down behind her.

“No, nothing – there are some small animals around, but nothing abnormal,” Hermione murmured in return. Regardless of the silencing charm, it felt risky to speak aloud, so they always kept their voices down.

“How long?”

“Just over three minutes,” Hermione checked her mental timer and pulled the cap from the bottle on her hip. 

She needed to slice the stalks at exactly 12:15 am and then jam them in the bottle before 12:16 am. There would be no repeat. If they missed this opportunity, not only would they need to return and endanger themselves once more, but it would delay the potion brewing by a week as the potion needed to start on a Monday.

Hermione strained her ears in the night, listening for any sound outside of the wind, the distance hum of the odd car driving through the nearby streets and the gentle sounds of the icy water. Her teeth clenched tightly as every muscle in her body tensed, waiting for the inevitable crux that was coming to complicate their night and ruin their plans. But as each second ticked away in her head and her heart thrummed against her ribs, nothing happened. At one minute remaining, she reached forward and grabbed a firm hold on a large bundle of snakeweed, knowing it was more than four times what they needed but intending to do this only once. The stalks were perfect, the cold air would help keep them fresh, and she never wanted to come back here again.

“Fifty seconds,” Hermione breathed, her fingers pulling the snakeweed taught as she placed the knife against the base of the stalks.

She licked her lips in concentration, her heart racing as she waited. Her eyes focused on the stalks as an anxious tremble rolled through her body. They were going to make it. They were going to get the snakeweed; they would get away, and she only needed forty-five more seconds to–

Her heart plummeted into her stomach as a blood-curdling scream split across the night, and a wave of nausea rolled through her gut at the sound. Harry’s grip tightened on her neck as his wand shot up. The noise had come from across the river towards the old, mostly empty area of the city. They couldn’t see anything on the other bank of the canal, but they could hear the desperate sound of a woman’s voice cut through the cold air like a knife.

“PPPPPLLLEEAASSSSEEEEEE, NOOO–”

Hermione’s stomach rolled. Her eyes darted to Harry, unable to see him under the disillusionment but knowing that he was looking to the other bank and searching for threats. She tried to focus on the snakeweed in her hand, but her fingers had started to tremble as the screams from the woman rattled her to her core. There was only one reason anyone would ever make that sound – the woman was being attacked.

“Time?” Harry’s voice sounded next to her ear against the screams.

“STOPP – HEEEELLLPP–”

“Twenty Seconds – Harry, we have to- “

“Cut the weed then we leave.”

“Harry, we can’t leave her–”

“It could be a trap.”

“Or it could be a muggle woman being attacked! Harry, we can’t just – shit!” 

The timer went off in her head, and she slashed the snakeweed, dropping the blade to the ground so she could use both hands to stuff the herb into the uncapped bottle. She could still feel Harry’s hand on her neck, but she noticed the slight tremor to it as the volume of the scream became muffled. She stuffed the snakeweed into the bottle as quickly as she could and recapped it, hoping to Merlin that Harry wouldn’t just apparate them away, and trusting that she knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t abandon someone being attacked.

“Harry, just wait,” Hermione said rapidly. “Wait until I get this packed we can’t leave–”

“Hermione, we can’t stay. If we go chasing after screams in the night, we’ll end up killing ourselves.” But despite his words, he remained crouched by her side, unable to make himself apparate them away even though Hermione had already stored the snakeweed and was carefully stuffing the bottle into her purse. 

She knew that he was torn – torn between doing the right thing, which was beyond risky, and doing the safest thing, which was what they had agreed to do before they arrived.

“Maybe – but Harry, we can’t leave. I know that sort of scream, Harry. That woman is begging for her life, and we’re probably the only people within this city capable of saving her. She’s going to attract more people, more muggles – they’ll die, Harry. I’ll abandon my morality when it comes to defeating You Know Who and his trash, but I will not leave innocent people to die! That makes us no better than them!”

“I know – I know! Fuck!” He groaned as he stood up and grabbed her hand. She could hear the frustration in Harry’s voice. She knew that he would never be able to walk away either because it went against his nature, but she understood his hesitation and frustration. “Alright, let’s go, but don’t let go of my hand – not for a second!”

“I won’t!”

Hermione apparated them across the river. They landed on the bank with a small pop and scurried up the wet snow of the path she had been looking at earlier as they made their way toward the muffled sobs coming from a few streets over. She cast a muffling spell on their feet as they ran, not bothering to vanish their footprints from the slush as her mind panicked at the stupidity of their actions. 

What are we doing, what are we doing – FUCK, what are we doing?!

Racing towards an attack in Birmingham had to be the most irresponsible and idiotic thing that they had ever done. They were asking for trouble, asking to be attacked, asking to die. She knew it was careless. She knew that in the greater picture, living was the most important thing that the two of them could do, and yet, the sound that had come from a stranger’s mouth had made her insides turn to lead. 

This was what Voldemort’s war sounded like. 

This was what he and his followers were doing. 

These were the sounds that echoed throughout the night in Birmingham and other cities as the Death Eaters and werewolves attacked innocent, unarmed muggles and tortured them to death or left them maimed in the streets. This was the terror that they bred, the fear that they mongered, and the way they would treat the world if they won. The few accounts that Arthur Weasley had shared with them had been upsetting – but hearing it was so much worse.

It had flicked a switch in her head, one of anger, one of rashness – her desperation to help was foolish and immature, yet she could not stop herself. She had meant what she said to Harry. She would abandon her morality and kill a Death Eater without batting an eye, and she would give every piece of herself to win this war and keep him alive – but she would not leave the muggles alone to die. They had no fight in this war. This wasn’t their burden to bear. Otherwise, what was the point? Why bother to fight against Voldemort in the war if they were willing to allow small acts to happen again and again when they had the chance to stop them?

They skidded around the corner of a dark alley soundlessly, nothing but a shimmer in the night as their disillusionment shielded them from view. They stopped once only briefly to recast their shield charms before taking off again down the icy path into the black. Hermione’s heart was pounding in her chest, but her breath came in even puffs as she sprinted, her fit body working like a well-oiled machine – propelling her forward with a strength she’d never before possessed. As she moved, she realized that the terror gripping her heart was not for her or for Harry, and that for the first time that night, she was not concerned about their wellbeing. She wasn’t afraid that they would be injured. She wasn’t afraid that they would die. Instead, she was concerned for the woman who was desperately calling out into the night for help.

And for the first time ever, she was afraid of herself. Afraid of what she might do when she reached the woman in need – of what she might do to whatever bigoted, vile, worthless piece of trash thought it would be a good idea to attack an innocent muggle in the night.

-x-x-

Harry rounded the corner as fast and as silent as a snitch. His heart was pounding in his chest as adrenaline pumped through his veins and put his senses on high alert. His grip on Hermione’s wand matched the tightness with which he held her hand, prepared to apparate away at a moment’s notice once they assessed the situation. He couldn’t believe what they were doing, yet he couldn’t fathom doing anything else. It wasn’t in his blood to stand by and let an innocent person be murdered or tortured. He couldn’t walk away if there was a chance of him helping – and he knew that Hermione understood that, that she felt the same.

He had briefly tried to make his body leave, tried to do the smart thing and apparate them away once Hermione stored the snakeweed, but something in the scream resonated deep within him and froze him on spot. It sounded so much like the screaming he heard when he closed his eyes, his mother’s screams that haunted his sleep and made him wake up in a cold sweat. The scream he had heard countless times since he was eleven years old. He would never have been able to just walk away; something pulled at his gut and told him to follow. It urged him to go toward the sound despite all reason – as if it was something he had to do. 

So as reckless as it was and as dangerous as it may be, he was glad that they were running through the dark back streets of old Birmingham toward the attack. He was glad he was with Hermione, and he knew this was the right thing to do.

As they rounded the next corner, the sounds of voices ahead hit his ears as they closed the distance toward the shadowy figures that lay ahead.

“SIT.”

“Aw c’mon Oscar – what the fuck did you do that for? Now we can’t take her back! The bites don’t work unless they’re done in the lab. We need to go – a bunch of muggles are bound to show up soon with the racket she made–”

“Who cares mate, that’s the whole fucking point. She does the work for us and draws them in so we don’t have to hunt them down. Besides, we’ve been working our asses off – I deserved some fun.”

Harry’s throat tightened as he and Hermione slowed, he could make out four figures on the dark path ahead from the faint moonlight glowing off the snow and a rickety-looking street light that hung off the back of the large building to their left. One of the shadowy figures was very clearly a werewolf, crouched on the ground with its head bowed in a strange sitting position. The golden band on its wrist glinted in the light as its heavy breathing filled the alley and liquid dripped from its jaws. Two of the figures were men, and both of them were standing. One was clutching his arm nervously. He was looking between the ground and the other man who appeared to be re-buckling his belt.

On the ground was the fourth figure, a slender body compared to those that surrounded it, but now silent and unmoving. Harry gritted his teeth as he felt Hermione’s fingernails slice into his skin. There was no doubt in his mind that she had drawn the same conclusion he had and felt the same burning rage. They both moved forward, approaching the figures before them quickly, hidden from view by their disillusionment and the darkness of the night.

Waves of murderous intent rolled off Hermione as the scene before them came into view and Harry’s anger flared to solar levels. Nothing about this was okay, nothing about this would ever be okay, and these two men would never see the light of day again.

“Yeah, but I don’t think that Arlo meant for us to–”

“Arlo don’t give a fuck what we do with them, he just wants us to bring them in. Besides, this way we’ll collect more,” the taller man said as he finished with his belt and straightened his pants. “They don’t last much longer than a month or two anyways, like this beast here. She’ll probably be dead in a fucking week, and I’ll have to get another – wait did you hear–”

The man who had been speaking choked on his words as blood spat from his mouth. A giant gash split across his chest, cutting him open from hip to collarbone and dumping his innards to the ground. He gasped for air, his hand outstretched as he looked to his partner in desperation before falling to his knees and crumpling to the ground. Blood poured from his mouth as he sputtered his dying breath, then his body grew still. 

Harry had felt the rage radiate from Hermione as she flawlessly cast her spell without a sound and without a wand. It had hit him like a physical punch as an aura of death encased the alley around them. A chill shuddered down his spine as Hermione flickered into view beside him and her rage became visible. Her hair had half worked itself out from the braid she’d had moments ago, and it blew around her face in the freezing air as she stood like an agent of the afterlife, ready to collect the souls of those before her.

Harry moved quickly at her side. He cast the second sectumsempra of the night, wordlessly slicing his wand across the air and beheading the werewolf that remained crouched by the body on the ground. It had looked up toward them the second that they got within 30 feet, but it had not moved or made any indication of giving away their position. Harry made a mental note of it because the behaviour was abnormal – wondering if the commands that could be directed through the golden bracelets were limited or specific. After all, the werewolf had been instructed to sit and nothing else. Otherwise, it would have attacked them long before.

Now, its head slid clean from its shoulders, thumping loudly to the ground as its body fell backwards into the snow. Deep crimson red poured from its throat and soaked the ground, creating a small puddle that flowed toward the body of the woman that lay on the ground.

“Oh fuck! Oh my – what the!?” The second man’s hand went to his head as shock overtook him. 

Blood from his partner had spattered across his chest and face. His mouth was open in confusion as he looked at the desecrated body of his partner. He scrambled for his wand, his eyes darting up just in time to see them. Hermione ran toward him, dragging Harry behind her but refusing to let go of his hand as they had promised. She moved like a manticore about to destroy its next target – but she stopped short of killing him and instead cast a silent petrificus totalus. 

The man’s features turned motionless just as she punched him dead in the face with her right hand. A sickening crunch echoed through the alley as his nose shattered. Blood poured from his face as he fell backward stiff as a board. He landed with a thud, his head saved from splitting like a melon by the soft snow that surrounded them. Hermione stood over the immobilized man’s body, panting as her grip on Harry’s hand tense. Her eyes darted around, looking for any other threats before surveying the bloodbath they had created.

Harry quickly cast two wards around them, ensuring that no one would be able to enter the alley without them knowing about it as Hermione laid down a silencing spell. Harry then cast a detection charm, checking for others Hermione’s head turned to face the woman who was lying on the filthy ground.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “She’s still alive! Harry – tether him to the ground so he can’t go anywhere.” 

Hermione dropped his hand, and he let it slide away as he moved toward the immobilized man. He didn’t want to let go, but he knew that they were completely alone in the alley now, and Hermione was going to need both hands to try and save the injured girl before them.

“On it,” Harry used the tethering spell that Hermione had taught him while training with the shield charm to fasten the man to the ground. 

He ripped the wand from his stiff hand, not taking the time to be gentle and ignoring the crack that his fingers made as they broke. He stuffed the new wand in his pocket before he cast a second petrificus totalus and set an internal timer. 

“He won’t be going anywhere,” Harry said, turning to move back toward her. “We have at least half an hour before it wears off, but I sincerely doubt we’ll have that long before the Police show up – how is she?”

He knelt down beside Hermione, paying no mind to the blood that seeped into his pants and instead biting his tongue at the sight before him. The girl was mangled. A fresh bite on her shoulder oozed streams of blood. Her clothes were ripped and torn, her fingers bloodied from her attempts to fight back, and her pants were half removed.

“Fuck.” The word escaped him as a whisper as bile formed at the back of his throat.

He wished the man Hermione practically chopped in half was still alive so he could rip him to pieces with his bare hands. The girl was maybe in her twenties and looked like she was on her way home from work based on her clothing. She was breathing faintly, her eyes were hooded and glossed over, but she seemed somewhat aware and looked up toward them with anguished curiosity.

I wonder if she saw us cut them down, he thought as he leaned in next to Hermione.

“Yeah – it’s not good,” Hermione said tightly as she began fishing vials out of her purse. She handed him one he recognized, one that he had helped to created – premixed Essence of Dittany with silver powder. A ready-to-go werewolf bite cure. “I’m going to clean the wound, pass me the mixture when I ask for it. Then I’m going to fix her clothes – you’ll need to hold her in place though.”

Harry nodded, because no other words were needed. He had seen first-hand when Hermione was injured just how bad it hurt to have a werewolf wound treated. He shifted around the girl’s body to let Hermione closer to the wound and cast a warming charm on the girl to keep her from freezing.

“Hey, hi – it’s okay. You’re okay now – we’re going to help you, okay? This is going to hurt a little bit, but I need you to stay still,” Hermione said, keeping her voice calm and light as she spoke to the girl. She glanced up at Harry and nodded, then dumped the wound cleaning potion across her neck and shoulder.

A strangled cry sounded from the girl. Her eyes shot wide with panic, and her hand jutted out, grabbing Harry’s arm as she wailed in pain and tears poured from her eyes. Harry tried his best to hold her still as she writhed against the ground and distorted noises left her lips. The bite had gone into her neck, so there was likely damage to her vocal cords. 

Her eyes latched to his as she groaned out once more. They were blue, light blue like a clear morning’s sky, and they were filled with agonizing pain. Harry felt a sharp stab of pain through his heart as he took her hand, gripping it tightly.

“It’s okay – it’s okay, just look at me. You’re okay – we’re going to help you, I promise,” the words poured from his mouth even though he knew he might be lying. 

He had no idea if they would be able to help this girl. Not a clue if she would be okay or what sort of life she would live if she somehow managed to survive. But right now, that didn’t matter, he would not let her suffer alone, and they would not let her die without first trying to save her. He handed Hermione the mixed potion when her hand outstretched for it, but he never took his eyes away from the girl’s gaze.

“You’re okay,” Harry repeated, forcing his voice to remain calm. “It’s okay, we won’t hurt you. I promise – we’re going to heal you – just focus on me. I know it hurts, just focus on me.”

The girl’s eyes were still wide. Her grip on his hand rivalled that of Hermione’s strength, but her gaze had become clearer, she appeared fully lucid, and she flicked her eyes between them as Hermione worked on her shoulder. She clenched her jaw tight with a sharp hiss of air, ragged deep breaths pulling through her nose as Hermione placed the final touches of the mixture across her skin. He could see a million questions racing through her mind, but she was unable to get them out as she clenched her jaw in pain.

“My name’s Harry,” he said, squeezing her hand in return. He wasn’t sure why he said it, he didn’t know if it helped or made it worse for her to have a name to put to his face, but it took her attention away from Hermione, who was fussing around her wound. “Are you able to tell me your name?”

The girl’s jaw tightened one more before she opened it, taking a battered breath before she tried to make a coherent sound.

“R-Ro-” her voice cut out, and a small whimper left her lips at the pain of trying to speak, but it didn’t stop her. She closed her eyes tight and forced out the mangled sounds. “R- Rossse.”

“Rose?” Harry felt a tight squeeze on his hand as her eyes shot back open. She smiled at him, wincing at the pain in her throat as she hummed out a low yes. “Rose, okay Rose – you’re going to be okay. We’re going to fix you up.”

Her eyes darted down to Hermione, who had shuffled down along her side towards her waist and her grip on Harry’s hand tightened.

“Rose,” Hermione said gently, looking up to the eyes that viewed her warily. It was more than obvious that the girl did not want anyone going near her lower half, and Hermione was careful not to touch her as she spoke calmly. “Can I put your clothes back on? It’s cold out here, and I thought it might make you more comfortable – but I can just cover you with a blanket if you’d prefer. I know it hurts to talk, so let’s just say yes for clothes and no for blanket.”

The girl’s brow creased as she drew a jagged breath and gritted through her word, “B – Bo – Both.”

“Okay, we’ll do both.” Hermione smiled softly and glanced over toward Harry. “Harry, can you fetch a blanket from the purse while I do this – then we’ll cast another warming charm so she’s not cold as ice.”

Harry grabbed Hermione’s purse with one hand, summoning the blanket wordlessly and placing it across her stomach for Hermione to lay out. He was cautious not to look anywhere but at Rose’s face while Hermione shuffled the pants up her legs and over her hips, and he avoided touching her anywhere except for the hand that he was holding. Rose had been manhandled enough for the evening, and he didn’t want to give her any reason to think they were a threat.

“How about some warmth,” he said, hoping to ease her stress a little more and not giving a flying fuck about the laws of using magic in front of muggles. 

He drew Hermione’s wand and cast a warming spell as Hermione started to lay the blanket out on top of Rose. He instantly saw a look of relief flood the girl’s face as the warmth surrounded her. Despite the slight panic that remained in her eyes, she was handling the situation surprisingly well. Then again, she could just be in shock, and she probably wasn’t processing this properly.

Harry glanced down at her neck and shoulder as Hermione tucked the blanket in along her side. His heart dropped, and he bit his lip at what he saw. Her wounds weren’t closing – at least not the way that Hermione’s had. He wasn’t expecting to see smooth healed skin, he knew that there would be mangled scarring as there was with all dark magic injuries – but he had at least expected to see the wounds close by now. Instead, blood continued to drip from the deep, unhealed puncture wounds in her shoulder, and the small portion of the skin around her throat that had stitched back together looked red and heated.

“Hermione,” he said nervously, a ball of sickness growing in his stomach as he watched the blood continue to pour. “Why aren’t they closing?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, returning her attention to the wounds. She was leaned over and peering down at them. The expression across her face made his heart start to race. “They should have closed by now, but they’re not – I’ve already doused it twice. She’s losing too much blood – let me get a replenisher.”

Harry watched as Hermione reached into her bag, quickly summoning a blood replenishing potion and bringing it to the girl’s lips.

“Rose, I need to you to trust me – I need you to take two big gulps of this okay.” Hermione’s voice was still quiet, but Harry could hear the undertone of anger and panic as Rose opened her mouth and willingly choked down two large gulps of the potion. It was at that moment that Harry was sure Rose must have seen them appear. Shock or not, she must have seen Hermione take out two of her attackers for her to be this trusting. Hermione recapped the bottle and dropped it back into her open purse, then pulled out a small muggle medical kit. “I’m going to try stitching this closed – I don’t know what else to do, Harry.”

“Okay.” Harry nodded and brought his eyes back to the girl who was looking at him gravely. The earlier panic had faded now something else had settled in. “This might sting a bit – Hermione’s going to stitch your wounds closed.”

Rose didn’t even flinch as Hermione threaded the needle through her skin. She pulled the gaping hole in her shoulder closed with each stitch, staining her hands with blood as she tied a quick knot and cut the string. She poured more dittany over the wound, muttering urgently under her breath before she grabbed her wand from Harry and cast a diagnostic spell, then pocketed her wand. The small three-dimensional image floated above Rose, and Harry scanned his eyes over it.

Nothing, he thought as his eyes fell to Hermione’s face again.

“I don’t see anything,” Hermione said desperately, and Harry could see her eyes starting to shimmer as she looked at the medical diagnostic again and again – hoping to find something wrong. Looking to discover the underlying problem so they could fix it. “Harry, there’s nothing. There’s nothing else – it just won’t close – fuck!”

The wound she had stitched shut split open, tearing the skin as fresh blood poured from the opening. The slightly healed flesh on the girl’s neck was bright red now, and it was starting to crack.

“Hermione – it’s coming undone,” Harry breathed as his eyes widened at the large fissures on her neck.

“Harry I – I can’t stop this – there’s nothing I can do.” Her eyes were glassy as she looked at him. He saw her swallow hard as she took a shaky breath. “I’ve read about this, remember we talked about it before? Most muggles don’t survive werewolf attacks. They – they can’t heal from it – the wounds don’t close.”

“There has to be something that we can do!”

Rose shuddered beneath them as the large wounds on her neck reopened further and more blood poured out.

“Fuck! Come on – we can do this, Rose – we can do this!” Hermione summoned the mixture from her open purse again and poured the remaining contents of the bottle on the girl’s neck. She pulled the blanket up and pushed it against the open wounds to help stop the blood flow, but more continued to pour as the Dittany mixture failed and the raw skin split wider. A sob broke from Hermione’s lips as she held the blanket tight. “Harry’s it’s – it’s not working. I – I can’t do anything else.”

Despair ravaged Harry’s body as he looked between the two girls. Rose was gritting her teeth in pain and staring up at Hermione as Hermione fought back tears and continued to fight to keep the wounds on her neck and shoulder closed. Without stopping to think, he grabbed the blood replenishing bottle, brought it to the girl’s lips and managed to get her to drink another gulp. Dropping the now empty bottle back into the open purse on the ground, he groaned and ran his bloodied hand through his hair to push it from his face. Things were falling apart before them, and there was nothing they could do – not even magic seemed to be able to save this girl.

“Maybe we can stitch it closed one more time–”

A tight squeeze on his hand pulled his attention back down to Rose. She was looking at him calmly; silent tears had started to pour from her eyes as her ragged breaths puffed out into the night.

“Harry – there’s hardly any skin there to stitch,” Hermione said quietly as she fought not to fall apart. “It’ll just split open wider - she’ll lose more blood.”

“Rose, I’m sorry,” Harry whispered as he continued to hold her hand, and Hermione pressed the blanket more firmly against her skin. “I – I said you’d be okay, but I – we can’t – we can’t get the wounds to close. I’m so sorry, Rose – I’m so sorry.”

Rose blinked at him, swallowing slowly as she continued to squeeze his hand.

“What happens, Hermione?” Harry asked, fighting to keep the pain out of his voice. “What do we do–” 

The sound of a Police siren cut through the air, and both of their heads shot up. It was close enough for them to know that they were in trouble, the muggle police would be there shortly, and they would either need to leave or be caught at the scene of the crime. As it was, the only reason why no one had stumbled upon them yet was because of the warnings that the Birmingham Police had been issuing to the public. No one went out at night alone. In fact, hardly anyone went out at all – and no one was stupid enough to run toward a scream they heard in the middle of the night. Someone must have heard the commotion, though, and while unwilling to go investigate it on their own, they had called the Police.

“Fuck,” Harry cursed as he looked around them and his eyes darted back to the man pinned to the ground and covered in blood. Everything they had been doing with Rose had moved at lightening speed, they still had ample time on the clock until the asshole was unpetrified, but he doubted they had much more than a few minutes before the Police showed up. “We need to leave, but we can’t leave that asshole here. We have to question him so we can stop this.”

“We take him with us – but we can’t leave her here like this either, Harry. I’ve done the reading, I’ve spoken to the healers at St. Mungo’s – I know what will happen,” Hermione said. She shook her head in frustration as an aggravated sigh escaped her lungs. “They’ll try to stitch her up, but the stitches will just keep ripping out. They’ll give her blood and delay her death, but she won’t live. Her heart will give out from the trauma and the illness – her body can’t handle the lycanthropy. She’ll die slowly in the hospital over the course of hours or days while they try to help her. The only thing that can cure a werewolf bite is magic, Harry, and we’ve tried that.”

“Okay, well what did the healers say to do?” Harry asked as he glanced between the two girls again, wracking his brain and trying to work through the problem logically.

“They said to bring them to St. Mungo’s for attempted treatment.”

“That’s out of the question,” Harry groaned. “St. Mungo’s is being watched – she’d be slaughtered if we brought her there.”

“I know.”

“Well, what would they do as attempted treatment?” Harry pressed.

“Everything that I just did.”

Harry’s eyes jerked back to Hermione’s at the sound of her voice. It was quiet and sad, resolved and defeated. A look of hopelessness poured from the depths of her warm brown eyes as she bit her lip, and a single tear fell down her cheek. Her hands were bloodied and trembling from the cold, but she continued to hold the blanket firmly against Rose’s neck. He shook his head, he knew she was right, but his brain wouldn’t accept it.

“What if we take her with us and use more dittany?”

“You know I would, Harry,” Hermione whispered in a low broken tone. “You know I would, but the dittany isn’t working. If she was going to heal, it would have happened already. The wounds would have closed – dittany isn’t a finicky substance that only works on occasion. Her body is rejecting it, that’s why the skin is inflamed around her neck. Muggles can become werewolves, Harry – but it depends entirely on their ability to heal from the wounds. Most die.”

“Try one more bottle – unmixed. We’ll do it like how we healed you,” Harry said as he squeezed Rose’s hand. He wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

“Okay.” She nodded, sniffing from the cold and gesturing her head to the blankets. “You’ll need to hold the blanket.”

Harry used his free hand to hold the blanket in place and listened to the sirens grow louder as Hermione pulled two fresh bottles from her bag.

“Here, hold this.”

Harry took the silver powder and watched Hermione pull back the blanket. The wound now looked exactly the same as it had when they first arrived, debatably worse. It was like they had done absolutely nothing to help and the skin on her neck was red and inflamed.

“This will sting again,” Harry said softly to Rose as Hermione uncorked the bottle and dumped the dittany over her wound. The girl hissed and wriggled under his grasp as green smoke billowed from her neck and shoulder. Harry bit the cork on the bottle of silver he was holding and popped it open, leaning over Rose to dump the powder onto her wound the exact same way he had for Hermione. “Okay, now pour it on again.”

“Right.” Hermione nodded, her eyes focused as she followed Harry’s instructions, reenacting the same technique that he had used on her.

They both held their breath as they watched the skin around the punctures, urging it to close and knit itself back together the way it was supposed to. But nothing happened. The flesh around her wound just grew redder and more angry while Rose whimpered again and squeezed Harry’s hand. The sirens were wailing now, and Harry could almost make out the red and blue lights reflecting in the sky as the Police closed in on their location.

“Shit!” Hermione capped the bottle and dropped it back in her purse in frustration as the skin along Rose’s neck ripped wider. She yanked the blanket back up, pressing it to the open wound to stop the bleeding and make it easier for Rose to breathe. When she spoke again, Harry heard her voice break. “Harry, I don’t know what to do. She’s going to die, Harry.”

Harry stared in disbelief at the alley around him. His legs were freezing in the cold puddle of blood that surrounded Rose, and he could hardly feel his fingers or nose as the subzero temperatures plunged lower with each second that passed by. The sirens echoed in his head as a dark realization dawned on him – there was nothing that they could do, and it had nothing to do with their abilities.

They had planned and trained, collected resources and tools, they had done everything in their power to ensure that they were prepared and capable. But they had done nothing to prepare for the fact that sometimes life didn’t work that way, that sometimes, despite your best efforts and skills, things were out of your control. His eyes fell back to Hermione, who was looking at him in desperation. She was looking to him for another idea, for any suggestion other than what they both already knew to be true. 

There was nothing they could do.

“Pl- ee,” Rose rasped as she tugged Harry’s hand and snapped him from his paralyzed state. His eyes flashed down to meet hers, and his heart caught in his throat when he looked at her. Her eyes were sad, her lower lip trembled, but a determination was settled across her face. With the tight pressure Hermione had on her neck, she was able to speak a little better. “K- Kill–”

“What?” Harry whispered, refusing to believe that she had just spoken the word he heard as panic built in his chest.

“Ki- Kill,” Rose choked on her word again but clenched his hand tightly as she fixed him with a fierce stare. She forced her mouth open and drew a shaky breath. “K- Kill – me.”

Harry’s blood ran cold, and the sounds around him started to distort as the words that Rose rasped out felt like a dagger through his heart. She wanted them to kill her. She wanted to die. His hand shook in hers as his eyes widened. Killing a Death Eater, a werewolf, or one of You Know Who’s followers was one thing, but killing an innocent muggle was completely different.

“What?” Hermione breathed, her head turning to look at Rose’s face.

Rose glared at them and tugged Harry’s hand to her chest. Her eyes darted to Hermione’s before she forced herself to speak again. “Pl-Pleeeasee – k – kill – me.”

She looked at them furiously as she struggled to swallow, her eyes darting between them as her chest rose and fell with each laboured breath. Harry could feel the unspoken words; she was all but daring them to ask ‘what’ one more time as she stared them down through narrowed eyes.

“Rose – I,” Hermione’s voice was disbelieving. She was as shook as Harry was.

The spells they practiced to kill or injure the enemy were not quick, nor were they painless. Harry wasn’t about to cut her head off, light her on fire, or make an explosion. He couldn’t kill her peacefully. Nothing he could do would be better than bleeding out in a warm hospital bed.

“Pl- Pleeeeasee,” Rose hissed, the urgency in her voice growing as the sirens rang closer. 

They could hear the vehicles arriving a street over. Rose’s eyes darted from his own back to Hermione’s. Then, with a grunted effort, she reached her other hand up to grab at Hermione’s jacket and pulled her down – their faces mere inches apart as she forced the next words out of her mouth. 

“Goin – t – die – an-way,” Rose stuttered. “Pl – ple – se. Hurt-ts -m-m ma - make it st-stop.”

Harry’s grip on Rose’s hand slackened when he heard Hermione take a deep breath as she leaned back from Rose. She was stone-faced and still. A silent steam of steady tears was pouring from her eyes, but she looked completely disconnected from her body. And his heart stammered in his chest as he realized what she was going to do.

“Hermione, we can’t.”

“She’s going to die, Harry.”

“Yes – I know – I know, but what can we do? You can’t just chop her head off; that’s hardly a more compassionate death than bleeding out at the hospital.”

“I’m not going to chop her head off, Harry,” Hermione whispered, her voice quiet and calm.

He watched as she pushed a stray lock of dark hair off Rose’s face before she removed her hand from the blanket at her neck. Rose smiled at her and dropped her hold on Hermione’s jacket, her arm falling with a thud to her side.

“Hermione, no,” Harry said, and his heart began racing as understanding dawned on him. Hermione slowly stood from the ground and pulled her wand from her jacket pocket. “No, don’t! You’ll split your soul, Hermione, stop! No!”

“Harry, you don’t seriously believe that do you?” Hermione turned to look at him as more tears fell silently down her face. Loose strands of hair blew across her face as the sound of voices cut through the air and the bark of a dog echoed in the night. They were sheltered by the large building to their left, and Harry knew that the Police would be forced to navigate the narrow street all the way down to the intersection behind them. “That a soul would be damaged from granting someone some peace, so they don’t die a slow and painful death? How is this any different from cutting someone open and disembowelling them? How is this any different from that death?”

Harry stilled, the barking dog was growing closer, and the urgent need to leave was growing. He knew that Hermione was right – they’d just slaughtered two men using dark magic, and they didn’t even give it a second thought. The idea that only three curses in the world were unforgivable was absurd. The two of them were lethal with a diffindo, and bombarda had been responsible for the deaths of many people over the course of history. The only reason why this spell was deemed to be horrific above the others was because its only purpose was to kill, and it had therefore been used favourably by dark wizards. The intent had to be pure, the result was instantaneous, and there was no cure or counter spell that could undo the damage.

It was an unforgivable spell, that was undeniable.

But Harry had long since thought that the name was a bit misleading or that it at least had two meanings. It could be unforgivable in the sense that it was an unjustifiable and reprehensible spell to use – which was the way that people understood it to be, and the way that it was taught in school. But perhaps it was unforgivable because you literally could not take it back, because there was no opportunity for forgiveness or honour if you misused the spell and that the user needed to be sure before he cast it. 

His hesitation was entirely based on his desperation to not give up. He didn’t want to kill Rose because then it meant that the fight was over – that they’d lost, and that Tom had claimed yet another life in a war based on hate. He wanted to belief that they could still save her.

He glanced down to the wounds on Rose’s shoulders. They looked fresh and angry. Her skin was red and shredded as blood continued to drain from the holes the banded werewolf had made. They’d used an entire bottle of dittany, and nothing had changed. They could use their entire medical supply, and nothing would change. The girl was going to die, and he knew it, and she was asking them for mercy – she was asking them to spare her from the suffering. Using the killing curse was the only way to grant a quick death, and realistically it was no worse than anything they had done so far. He glanced back to meet Rose’s desperate eyes and felt a heaviness in his heart at the pleading look she gave him.

“I’ll do it,” he said quietly, watching as relief flooded Rose’s face and she pulled in a choked breath. If they were going to do it, he would rather do it. If he could spare Hermione the agony that would certainly hit later on, he would – though he knew she would refuse. In the very least, he could show his full support by offering to cast the spell.

“No, Harry,” she said softly as she looked down at the wand in her hand. “It’s my wand – I’ll do it. You need to stun the guy who’s still alive and detach him from the ground. We’ll bring him with us and question him.”

Harry sighed and closed his eyes against the red and blue that was now flashing in the air. He wanted to argue, he wanted to pry the wand from her fingers so she wouldn’t have to do it, but the logical side of his brain stopped his movements and squashed out the unreasonable ego that chattered within. 

My how far I’ve come, he thought as he opened his eyes and looked at Hermione. Fifteen-year-old me would have pitched a fit.

On the other hand, seventeen-year-old Harry understood that using dark magic was dangerous enough when you were using your own wand, but casting it while using someone else’s was something else entirely. He had been lucky so far with his use of Hermione’s wand, they seemed to get along okay, and he was able to use it effectively even if the spells he cast were less powerful than usual. Since Christmas, he had managed to form a sort of understanding with her wand, and he was comfortable using it for most spells. 

However, he wasn’t confident that asking it to cast the killing curse for the first time was something that he should do.

“Alright,” Harry breathed as he squeezed Rose’s hand one last time. “I’m sorry, Rose.”

She nodded at him, dropping her hold and letting her hand fall to the ground by her side. Her eyes turned to Hermione once more as she took a slow deep breath and gave a look of appreciation. Harry stepped back from her body and quickly hit the man tethered to the ground with a stunning spell before he released the tether and dragged his body toward Hermione’s feet.

“You can close your eyes if you want, Rose,” Hermione said softly as she raised her wand.

“T – Th – Thank y – you,” Rose grunted out, her face grimacing in pain as the words were forced from her torn throat. She closed her eyes, a small smile dusting over her lips again as she let the air out of her lungs in a sigh of relief.

“Avada Kedavra.” 

The words were clear but hushed. They came from Hermione in a whisper, spoken firmly but softly, like she was hushing Rose to sleep with a song.

A bright flash of green shot from the end of Hermione’s wand and hit Rose square in the chest, the movements of her laboured breathing ceased immediately, and her body fell still. The small smile became rigid on her face in the freezing air as the dogs and shouts grew louder behind them. Hermione stood frozen above her, wand outstretched, unmoving as she stared at Rose’s dead form.

“Hermione, we need to go,” Harry said finally, biting down the urge he felt to vomit, or scream, or throw something nearby. Anger had started to pour through him again as he stared at Rose's lifeless body in the bloodied alley. He grabbed the remaining bottles off the ground, tossed them into the open purse, closed it, and stuffed the bag in his jacket. Then he turned back to the stunned man, grabbed the bare skin around his wrist and reached forward for Hermione’s hand.

“Wait,” she said, her voice sounding hollow as she finally moved, mechanically lowering her wand and then darting toward the dead werewolf.

Harry’s heart thumped in his chest as the first ward chimed in his head. The Police were at the end of the alley, and in about twenty seconds they would be visible to the authorities that were racing their way closer. Hermione tapped the creature’s body, and its head with her wand before pocketing it. 

What the fuck, Harry thought as he watched her move before him. He was starting to worry that she may have snapped when she killed Rose – they didn’t have time to investigate the werewolves in the middle of a murder scene.

“Hermione," Harry said with desperation in his voice. "Now – they’ll be able to see us in a second and we need–”

“I know! But we’re taking these too.” Hermione lifted the corpse of the werewolf under her arm. Then she grabbed the head by the scruff of its fur and dashed back over to him.

It should have been impossible. The weight of the werewolf should have far exceeded anything that she would be capable of lifting on her own, let alone tucking under her arm like a newspaper and running several steps. He smirked despite his anger, despite his sadness and frustration over the night and grabbed her hand tightly – apparating them away with a pop before the Police crossed his final ward.

Hermione was a genius. Even after the night they had been through, she managed to collect another sample for her studies by using a quick feather-light charm. Not to mention the fact that she just saved Mr. Weasley and the Ministry from a major wizarding exposure problem by removing a decapitated werewolf body, so it wasn’t left out for the muggle Police to find. 

The world warped around them and reappeared to a familiar cave by the sea. The salty, cool air bit at his face as he landed. He heard Hermione drop the corpse to the ground with a thud before she started muttering the spells for their wards and detections. He turned to the stunned body of the man he had dropped on the ground, and his jaw clenched tightly. Then he dragged the body into the cave and tethered it to the wall. They wouldn’t be returning to the safety of the North just yet… not until they had the answers they needed, and he would make sure that they got them.

-x-x-

Two Sentence Summary:

Hermione realizes that she will give anything to win this war and that she must put side her qualms with killing the enemy if they want to be successful. They return to Birmingham to gather the snakeweed and hear a scream, so they go to investigate and the following occurs: they find a young muggle woman named Rose who was attacked and raped by two snatchers, they kill one of the men, captured the second and behead the werewolf, they attempt to save Rose but realize her body rejects magic, despite their extended efforts Rose is going to die and she asks them to kill her to spare her the pain, Hermione grants her a mercy death using Avada Kedavra for the first time.

Mr. Weasley,

I hope this message finds you well and quickly. A muggle woman was attacked by a werewolf in Birmingham tonight. Her body is on the south side of the canal in an alley behind what I believe to be the old Stedman Warehouse – muggle Police will be present.

You will be relieved to know that the werewolf corpse is no longer on-site, but I believe that Ministry intervention (by trusted members) with muggle law enforcement is crucial as the remaining bodies are severely mangled, and the scene is a mess. 

I apologize for the informality, but given the situation, urgency seemed more imperative. I expect to have more information shortly and will be in touch.

Regards,

Hermione

-x-x-

“Did you contact Mr. Weasley?”

“Yes,” Hermione said as she took a seat on a small rock in front of the unknown man who was currently tethered to the cave wall. 

Harry had strung him up while she had cast several wards around the cave to alert them if anyone got within 100 meters of the entrance. She had not bothered taking out the tent or casting their full set of extensive wards as they had no intentions of staying at their current location longer than necessary. Once they were done questioning the man, they would be apparating back to the safety of the North. 

“Already sent,” Hermione continued. “I’m ready when you are.”

If Harry noticed the emptiness in her voice as she spoke, he didn’t show it. Instead, he simply nodded before turning back to the man tethered against the cave wall. He cast a quick silencing spell to ensure that the man wouldn’t be able to scream out Voldemort’s name when he removed the stunning charm. The last thing they wanted was for Voldemort himself to show up – they needed this man alive. He was their only opportunity at gathering current information on the werewolf encounters, and they were going to get it. 

Hermione sat still, a fresh quill poised over a blank page in her notebook, ready to record even the smallest detail that their captive revealed. Whatever information they got would then be passed along to Mr. Weasley and the remaining members of the Order. They had discussed the werewolf issue at length over the last few months and agreed that they would disclose information regarding the werewolf attacks to Mr. Weasley as they gathered the details and determined how the bonding process worked. They both knew that it would be impossible for them to train, locate and destroy Horcruxes, and work to defeat Voldemort while simultaneously resolving the ever-growing werewolf crisis. 

The war was simply too large for them to win on their own. Thinking they could be heroes and defeat Voldemort and his forces alone was a childish notion that would cost innocent people their lives. So, even though they hated the idea of requesting assistance or involving Mr. Weasley for fear of him getting injured, they knew they needed his help. They needed the Order to support them if they truly wanted to stop the abductions of innocent muggles and prevent the werewolf army from growing any larger than it already was. It had taken them a while to come to terms with the decision to involve Mr. Weasley further, but they understood that the situation required aid. So, they had agreed to disclose the details to Mr. Weasley but keep their own involvement and any other information regarding their actions and true mission a secret.

Hermione took a muted breath and closed her eyes, using her practiced meditation and occlumency skills to empty her mind from the events of the alley and the images that seemed to be burned into her brain. It was like the entire ordeal wanted to replay in graphic detail at the forefront of her vision over and over again. She clenched her jaw tight as she forced the images to the back of her mind, silently promising herself that she would properly deal with everything later – but that right now, she had to focus. Harry needed her to pay attention while he questioned the man, and she needed her body and mind to cooperate in order to do it. 

She felt a slight tremble in her right hand as a final image of Rose was stored away, and the dark feeling that she had experienced while casting the killing curse cascaded down her arm once more. She gripped her quill more tightly to steady her hand and ignored the tremble, choosing to blame it on the cold as she let out her breath and opened her eyes. 

Let’s get this done and over with, she thought as she looked up to Harry.

Hermione watched Harry raise her wand, flicking it quickly as he removed the effects of the stunning charm. The unknown man’s eyes shot wide, and his mouth opened in pain as he tried to reach for his shattered nose but was unable to move his hands up from his sides. She remained quiet, her lips twitching slightly as the man struggled against the invisible chain that held him to the wall for several seconds until his darting eyes locked onto hers, and he stilled. She could feel the air within the cave tighten around her as she clenched her free hand into a tight ball and held his gaze, watching them widen in fear as his chest started to move in quick bursts. 

He was terrified. 

Frozen on spot like a deer in headlights. The sound of Harry’s worn shoes scuffing against the cave floor caught the man’s attention. His eyes pulled away from hers, locking to Harry’s as he moved closer and stood just to the right in front of Hermione. The man’s eyes widened further, a look of pure shock settling over his face as he took in Harry’s form.

A scoff almost passed her lips as she monitored his expressions. She wondered how they both compared to the images and stories of the ‘Golden Trio’ that Voldemort and his Death Eaters were promoting. 

Was Voldemort still telling his followers that they were incompetent children a mere disarming spell could stop? Did they believe that Harry was just ‘lucky’? That he had no real skill? Did they think she was only good at books and logic and was still undeserving of her magic? Did his followers believe that they couldn’t defend themselves? 

She had seen the undesirable posters that had been pasted around wizarding communities from their break-in at the Ministry, and they looked nothing like those childhood images anymore.

Harry towered above the seated man, his clothes dirtied and worn, his breath puffing slow and even from his mouth in small clouds of mist against the frigid air as the wind howled outside and tore across the entrance of the cave. The light from the small fire that Harry had conjured highlighted the bloodstains that covered the front of his robes and soaked his jeans. They ran through his long, dishevelled hair and caked his hands. They were both covered in it – in Rose’s blood, and it made them look wild and dangerous in the low flickering light. 

The man’s frozen, wide-eyed, and frightened expression said everything.

No, Hermione thought as she watched a small shiver run through the man before her. We don’t match any description you’ve been given. This isn’t what you prepared for, and you should be afraid.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Harry’s voice was low and controlled as he spoke, but Hermione could sense the air of tension around him. She knew that he wanted nothing more than to eviscerate the man before them but was restraining himself in order to get what they needed. “And you’re not saying anything either – not until you understand how this is going to work.”

Harry crouched down before the man, elbows resting gently on his knees as he met him at eye level. His grip on her wand tightened, and Hermione saw the man’s eyes dart to it quickly before returning to Harry’s face.

“My friend and I have some questions for you about the werewolf activity – and we’re pretty confident that you have the answers,” Harry said, and the man’s throat bobbed as he visibly swallowed. “So, I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer them. If you don’t – you’ll die. I know you saw what we did in that alley – so you know I’m not lying. If you call You Know Who here, we’ll be gone before he arrives and – you’ll die. I’m sure by now you’ve figured out that he isn’t above killing his own, and he doesn’t take kindly to failures. Nod if you understand.”

The man nodded quickly, his eyes still wide as they darted over to Hermione’s with a mistaken look of pleading. If he thought he would receive a better offer from her, or if he thought that she might be the more compassionate of the two and show him mercy, he was wrong. Dead wrong. He would receive no absolution from her, and she would destroy him just as quickly as Harry would. Seeing the hard look in her eyes, his expression quickly tightened into one of despair, and he brought his eyes back to Harry’s face. Then he swallowed hard and nodded again more slowly.

“Good. First question – where is the main werewolf den, is it in Birmingham?” Harry twitched his finger and removed the silencing spell. 

The man’s rapid breathing quickly filled the air and he blinked between the two of them. His eyes dropped to the wand that remained unmoving in Harry’s hand and a confused expression crossed his face before he stiffened completely against the cave wall. He wasn’t expecting them to be capable of wandless and wordless magic, and the realization that Harry had cast a spell wordlessly as easily as breathing seemed to remove any shred of doubt or resistance from his body. This man obviously wasn’t a fanatic who would die for the cause. He was probably just some idiot who joined because it sounded promising, and now he was going to split at the seams and give them everything he had.

“Y-Yes,” the man’s voice came out broken, betraying him and allowing his fear to echo around the cave in the darkness. “I-It’s in Birmingham.”

“Where?” Harry asked, his tone deep and to the point. His expression remained carefully blank, giving nothing away as Hermione’s hand began to move across the blank notebook page, transcribing everything that the man said and how the questions were worded.

“Underground – in the sewers. There was an o-old, abandoned building on the north side that had several basement levels. They d-dug it out – and connected it to the sewers. It’s how we get around mostly unseen.”

“What’s the address of the building?”

“I – I don’t know.” Panic shot through the man’s eyes as he glanced between Hermione and Harry again, petrified that he did not have an answer to the question.

Evidently, he did not doubt that they would kill him if he didn’t give them what they wanted, but Hermione wasn’t surprised that he didn’t know. She suspected that the operation was layered, that information wasn’t freely passed out to everyone and that there may even be multiple dens. One for the werewolves to stay in, one for experimentation, one for holding muggles in waiting, etc… she watched him carefully as he bit his lip and scrunched his face, trying to recall as many details as he could.

“It’s near Fish Pond!” He shouted suddenly, relief flooding his face as he nodded vigorously. “Just off Netherhall Ave, I think – I heard someone mention that a while ago, so it may be near there. We weren’t supposed to know. I’ve only ever gotten to it from the sewers, I-I don’t know anything else on its exact location, but I know it’s heavily warded.”

A warm tingle in Hermione’s pocket caught her attention. The coin for the magazine was burning, which meant that Mr. Weasley had replied. She shifted the notebook on her lap to see the magazine which laid open underneath, hidden from view of the man tethered to the wall, and she saw the scrawled coded words Mr. Weasley had sent. She checked the time internally; it was 1:07 am. 

How did Mr. Weasley know that she had messaged him?

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she let out a quiet sigh. He charmed the coin, she realized. He must have done exactly what she had done to her own copy of the coin – charmed it to alert him of when the coin was modified. They always changed the cypher right before sending a new message, so she must have woken him up, and he already had her message. 

Everyone always underestimated Mr. Weasley, but he truly was a brilliant man. She slid the notebook back down to cover the text and returned her eyes to the man tethered against the wall. He had begun to shiver, the frozen cold easily seeping through his damp blood-soaked clothes. She would decode the message once they were done questioning him, and she had more information to share.

“You’re turning muggles into werewolves, correct?” Harry continued his questioning

“Y-Yes.”

“Who’s Arlo?” 

Hermione edged forward on her rock as Harry asked this question. It was the name they had heard in the alley before they intervened.

“He’s the one that’s doing it – he’s the one changing them.”

“How is he doing it? Most muggles die from a werewolf bite.”

“I don’t know,” The man said, flinching as Harry’s hand twitched against her wand, and a small whimper escaped him. “I swear I don’t! I don’t know! I’m not allowed in the lab – I don’t even know where the lab is! I just help bring them in and drop them off at the building. All I know is once they’re changed, they’re bound.”

“How are they bound?” Harry asked, leaning in slightly and fixing the man with an even stare.

“I-I don’t know that either,” the man nearly whined as he trembled with fear. He was coming up short on a lot of the questions and starting to feel like his time was running out. “I just know that they use a golden band – but they’re not conscious when they do it. So no one knows how the process was completed. Just that the muggle you’re paired with stays in wolf form and answers to your commands.”

“So – you just help bring the muggles in,” Harry said flatly, though the caustic undertones were unmistakable.

“Y-Yes.” The man’s eyes shifted to Hermione’s before he nodded and continued. “That’s all – I don’t know anything else. I worked in a pair with Oscar – we would just collect and drop them off. I wasn’t part of processing.”

“Oscar, your friend, he had a werewolf with him – but you didn’t, and I don’t see a band on you.”

“I d-didn’t have one.”

“Why not?”

“The bond didn’t work well on me – I wasn’t able to get one.”

“Why?” Harry pressed, his head tilting to the side as his eyes trailed over the man’s face.

“I don’t know. T-They don’t explain things to us. They tried to give me a band, but they said it didn’t work well with me, that it wasn’t taking, so they removed it. That’s all they said! Then I was just recruited to help collect. Arlo is the one behind everything – and Eric is his only other helper. Everyone else is either a bonded pair or a collector.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“I’m not sure,” the man said nervously, biting his lower lip again and frowning at the dried blood he tasted. “I was recruited about six months ago – but Oscar was there for eight.”

“How many people are bonded pairs?”

“I’m not sure – maybe thirty? Maybe more? I don’t see hardly any of them. They keep it like that on purpose – they don’t want the collectors or the pairs to know the full details of the operation.”

Hermione noted that down and added a star on her page. He had just confirmed what she suspected. Clearly, Arlo, whoever he was, was a smart man. He knew what he was doing. The operation was layered as she had expected. Arlo and Eric functioned with more information than those working for them. This man was just a lackey, just a guy with a single purpose and job, and he wouldn’t be able to give them any useful information on the bonding process or any details of how the organization was constructed. 

It was annoyingly clever... and exactly how she would have structured something top secret. 

Arlo had created a failsafe, ensuring that they had little information to give if anyone from his bottom tier was captured. It was probably safe to assume that there were not a lot of people outside of Arlo, Eric, and Voldemort that knew the details of the operation. Though, it was clear from his responses so far that this man listened. He paid more attention to his surroundings and to what people said than the others because he knew roughly where the den was. She suspected that most other collectors and bonded pairs didn’t since they only entered it from underground. Though she imagined Arlo had hoped that if anyone did get captured, they would remain loyal to the cause and die instead of giving out information. But that was his mistake. That was the crack in the plan and the problem when your army grew too large. 

Not everyone was a fanatic. Different people have different motivations, and this guy was just a low-level thug, likely recruited with the promise of reward or because he was too afraid to say no. While he wouldn’t be able to give them everything they needed, he wasn’t completely useless.

“How many people do you bring in?”

“Maybe three or four a month? It used to be more, around five plus a month – but the muggles started to notice, so it was getting harder to find them alone. Everyone’s counts have dropped.”

“How many collectors are there?”

“I’m not sure. We don’t all know each other, and not all collectors work with a bonded pair – but there has to be at least twenty actively collecting.”

Hermione’s quill stilled over her page as her eyes shot up to look at the man. Her mind registered the sound of her quill cracking between her fingers, but she didn’t feel the splinters that dug through her skin. She knew that Harry had just done the math as well because the cave grew instantly quiet, and his body tensed.

“So – you’ve collected over six hundred muggles?” Harry asked, and the man before them fell silent at his dark and deadly tone.

A slow sobering look passed over the man’s face as his brain registered the number that Harry had stated. His eyes widened, and Hermione realized that he had never even considered running the numbers in his own head before. He had never even thought about the quantity of people that they had taken back to the den. He opened his mouth and closed it, then opened it again only for no sound to come out. Then his lip began to tremble.

“You never even thought about it, did you?” Harry’s voice was so low Hermione could barely hear it; his eyes were livid while he remained motionless. “Why so many?”

“Because they don’t last long,” the words fell like a whisper from the man’s lips as his gaze became transfixed on Harry’s. Hermione could see a gloss form over his eyes as his lip continued to tremble. “I-I never – I never thought about it.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Harry exhaled, forming a puff of mist between them. 

He allowed the horrible silence to fill the void as the wind raged more angrily outside. It was making a horrendous whine as it tore across the opening of the cave and causing the flicker of the fire to move more chaotically across the rocky walls. Then the man started to realize that Harry hadn’t asked another question.

“I-I – I’m sorry,” his voice broke again, and his entire body began to shake as Harry rose to his feet. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice,” Harry said quietly as he reached his full height and looked down at the man sitting awkwardly on the ground. “You made the wrong one.”

“N-No p-please! Please don’t kill me! I didn’t have a choice. You have to understand – I’m a half-blood! My mother, she’s a muggle, she’s ill – they promised to help her! Please I –”

His voice cut off as Harry flicked a finger, casting a second wordless silencing spell to end the desperate ramble. Hermione could see terror settling across the man’s face as his mouth continued to move, begging for his life in silence. He pulled against the tether that held him and glanced between them desperately, but she tore her eyes away from his miserable form when Harry turned to face her.

“I don’t have any other questions, do you?” Harry asked, arching a brow at her in question as he let out a frustrated breath. He looked as strained as she felt, and they both wanted this night to be over.

“No, I don’t think so,” Hermione cast a silent muffiato so the man would not be able to hear their exchange and leaned over to her right so her mouth movements wouldn’t be seen. It made it much easier for her to ignore the man’s desperate attempts to get their attention and plead his case when she couldn’t see him from the corner of her eye. “It sounds like Arlo and whoever else set this up covered their bases pretty well by using a layered structure for information, probably ranks of some sort. This man won’t be able to answer any of the finer questions I have on how the bonding is completed.”

“That’s what I figured too,” Harry sighed and closed his eyes in annoyance. She knew that he was starting to feel the same nagging exhaustion that had started to creep into her bones. The cold wasn’t helping the situation either. “So – what do we do with him? Do we just wipe his memory and let him go, or do we kill him?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione bit her lip as she ran the scenarios in her head. “If we wipe his memory and let him go, You Know Who will find him, and he’ll be killed regardless. If we kill him, well then, he’s just dead, and we have to do something with the body. They’ll probably find him eventually, given what happened in the alley, and they will assume that information was gathered. We don’t want him turning up dead too quickly – or they may move locations or modify their plans before we can do anything with what we do know.”

“That’s exactly what I was worried about.” Harry nodded as he opened his eyes again and looked at her worriedly. “We need time to get this information to Mr. Weasley – see if there is something that we can do about the known den. I think we’re going to have to release him with his memories of tonight erased, so it looks like he was a coward and just ran away from the scene.”

“Right.” Hermione nodded slowly. “Then they will kill him for being a traitor, but it buys us more time and lessens the chances of them making any changes. He wouldn’t be the first of the followers to run away in a fight. If we’re lucky, Mr. Weasley can change the reports on the scene to make the whole thing look like a random accident, instead of it being a blatant attack.”

“We should give the werewolf corpse to Mr. Weasley,” Harry agreed, running his hand through his hair absently as he thought through their next steps. “Make it look like someone decent in the Ministry just happened to get to the alley before the muggle Police and took away the body. We can have them report that this guy apparated away – then it gives us time to do something about this, to disassemble their operation.”

“We’ll need to arrange a drop point,” Hermione said as she tapped the book in front of her.

“Did Mr. Weasley get back to you?”

“Yes – actually, he’s quite brilliant. He must have charmed the coin to alert him of when I changed it because he responded extremely quickly after I sent the message. I haven’t decoded it or read it yet – figured it would be better to have some information to send him, and I wanted to get this over with.”

“He’s far more clever than people give him credit for,” Harry muttered as a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it didn’t reach his tired eyes.

“I know,” Hermione breathed, her air misting thickly before her. “Harry – it’s possible that this man knows more than he thinks he does. I’m not skilled enough at legilimency to attempt it – if I screwed it up, it could ruin his mind, and we wouldn’t be able to release him as planned. But, well, maybe he saw something. A skilled legilimens would be able to sift through his brain and see if any other information is useful.”

“Does the Order have anyone skilled in legilimens now that Snape is gone?”

“I’m not sure,” Hermine said slowly, wracking her brain for any names of the Order members who may be able to help. “But we could ask. Either way, we need to wipe his memory up to the point that we showed up in the alley – we don’t want anyone seeing what happened or knowing we were there.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded, glancing down at her broken quill before catching her eye again. “Are you okay to do the charm? I can start decoding the journal.”

“Yeah, I can do it – here.” Hermione handed Harry her notebook and journal along with the coin, standing up from the rock and biting back the stiff soreness from her legs as she stood. 

They needed to get into the warmth of their tent – warming charms just were not cutting it in the cave. She took her wand back from him and cast another charm even though it would do little to help against the bitter night air. Walking around Harry, she approached the guy who was tethered to the wall. 

He was crying silently now, tears rolling down his face as he watched her move to kneel in front of him. She had no idea what her expression looked like – if it matched the death she was feeling internally – but clearly, it did nothing to ease the man’s despair as she saw a silent sob escape him, and he closed his eyes tightly. She raised her wand to cast obliviate, then paused when a thought struck her and instead removed the muffiato so he could hear her.

“I have two questions for you,” she said, her voice colder than the air as the man’s eyes flashed wide. He met her gaze desperately, searching her face for hope as he waited for her to continue. “The same terms apply here – once I remove the silencing spell, if you do anything idiotic, I will kill you.”

The man nodded, his eyes never leaving hers as he waited for her to remove the charm. She did so without even raising an eyebrow, and his ragged breath filled the cave once more.

“We took a wand from you in the alley – what is it?”

“U-Unicorn hair,” he said roughly. His voice was even more hoarse than before, and Hermione realized that he had been silently screaming at them while they spoke, and now, he grimaced as he forced the words out in pain. “Ten and a half inches, hazelwood.”

“What’s your name?”

“Evan,” he said slowly, blinking before he took a shuddered breath. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Not today,” Hermione said quietly, her jaw clenching as she mulled over what to say. He wouldn’t remember anything that had happened beyond the alley – the information simply wouldn’t exist, so it truly didn’t matter what she did now. Though, she found herself feeling torn. She wanted to scream at him, punch him again, lecture him, berate him, hate him – but she knew it would be wasted time and effort. “You won’t remember anything that happened here. You’ll be released at some point to return to your friends.”

“N-No,” he stuttered, his eyes widening as her words registered in his brain. “They’ll kill me! They’ll kill me for leaving the alley – they’ll kill me for giving up information.”

Hermione was unable to stop her eyebrow from arching at him as he spoke. She found it odd that he seemed to think that might matter – that she might care. She and Harry were perfectly well aware that he would be killed by Voldemort’s followers when they finally found him – but that wouldn’t impact their decision to let him go. She was briefly struck by the thought that perhaps she was becoming harder and colder than she realized.

“Yes,” she said slowly, letting out a cold breath of air. “I believe you’re right.”

“Y-You can’t do that – please, please! I know what I was doing was wrong, but I had no choice, I–”

“There aren’t a whole lot of options for you, Evan,” Hermione cut him off as she raised her wand to his temple and continued to hold his terrified gaze. She wasn’t sure why she was engaging with him so much given that it was pointless, but the emotion she had bottled up earlier was starting to seep out, and she couldn’t stop herself. “We can’t keep you here. You’re a threat to our safety, no one can know what happened here, and if I’m being blunt – I don’t care what happens to you, Evan. You made your bed, and now you get to lay in it. Did you care about Rose?”

“W-Who’s Rose?”

“Exactly.” Hermione’s word cut through the cave and brought down a thick pressure in the cold air.

She could feel her pulse begin to quicken as her hand twitched on her wand. Her temper was rising, she was exhausted, and the stress from the day was finally getting the better of her. It took all of her remaining willpower not to hex the man before her or beat the ever-living crap out of him with her bare hands. She felt like her skin was cracking – burning under the anger that was starting to course through her body. It threatened to break her control as her eyes narrowed at Evan and her face contorted into one of disgust.

“Rose is the woman you were trying to collect,” she practically snarled at the man before her, her eyes flashing as she poked the end of her wand into his temple. “Rose is the woman you let your friend rape, and his werewolf bite – a werewolf that used to be a muggle no less. Rose was a person, a human fucking being that you killed, simply because she was a muggle – because she wasn’t magical! You said you’re a half-blood – well, that makes you even more fucking disgusting. At least with a pureblood, I can follow the logic of how they end up the way they do – brainwashed and ignorant, raised on archaic, bigoted traditions that are illogical and baseless. 

“But you,” Hermione breathed, her voice getting lower as her anger grew. “You’re a special kind of shameful – deplorable, a complete waste of air. How would you have felt if your mother had been targeted? If she was Rose? I know you said they offered to help you, but magic can’t fix everything, Evan. If you’d paid attention in school, you might have learned that. And if you’d spent any time using that organ between your ears, you would know that’s how You Know Who works – he offers you something you need to get you to join his side. Then, he uses you and throws you away. You could have gone into hiding, you could have stood up for what was right, you could have gone to someone fighting on the opposite side for help – but you didn’t – you chose the easiest fucking option because you’re a coward.”

Hermione was breathing heavily as her wand poked furiously into Evan’s temple. He’d turned his head away from her to try and relieve some of the pressure, but his eyes were still fixed on hers, and he stared unblinkingly as his breath came in pants. She could feel Harry’s eyes on the back of her neck. He was watching her carefully to make sure that she didn’t blow a fuse and just execute Evan on spot – but he didn’t step in to stop her from berating the man either.

“This is a waste of my time – you won’t remember this,” Hermione murmured angrily, feeling the blood rushing through her veins as her grip tightened on her wand. She forced herself to inhale as she readied herself to cast the spell. “But – I will make sure that you never forget her name. I’ll burn it into your mind. I’m going to engrave it into your soul – you’ll never forget what you did, what she looked like as she bled out on the ground of a dirty alleyway and cried for help. That, Evan, is one thing I promise you will never forget.”

Hermione cast the obliviate just as the tremble that ran through Evan’s body reached his legs. His eyes went dull before they drooped closed, and she worked on modifying his memories. True to her word, she removed everything that had happened after the alley. She took out all of the memories of Harry and her – the look on her face while she punched him square in the nose, Harry’s dark shadow as he appeared in the alley, the cave, the questions – everything. Everything except the small echo of Rose’s name in his voice. She left that single word intact, doing everything that she could to highlight the name in his memory before she stunned him and wrapped him in a binding chain.

“Are you okay?”

Hermione hadn’t realized that she had remained motionless in front of Evan after casting her spells. Her mind had stalled as a wave of conflicting emotions consumed her. Her wand was still outstretched and pointed at Evan, but the sound of Harry’s voice next to her ear shook her from her frozen state. 

He was kneeled next to her; the small warmth from his body radiating into her arm as he reached forward to lower her wand hand. She had been sitting there consumed with anger, disgust, and loathsome understanding as she stared at the man before her. She hated that she could understand this man. That she knew why he did what he did and how easy it would have been for Voldemort to manipulate him. A microscopic part of her wondered if she should feel bad for letting him go to his death. He wasn’t a cult follower of the purebloods, just a man looking to save the life of his sick mother. 

It made her want to vomit when she thought about how many people Voldemort and other power-hungry people had manipulated throughout the years. They preyed on the weak. They stalked the innocent and desperate, offering them what they needed without ever truly intending to pay up. She hated that war wasn’t easy – it wasn’t clean cut, there weren’t just bad guys and good guys. The lines were blurred, and the situation was as grey as the stone statues that littered the Hogwarts hallways.

“I’m fine,” Hermione said slowly, allowing Harry to take away her wand before she swallowed and turned to face him. “Did you decode the message?”

-x-x-

Hermione,

I think we are well past the point of requiring formalities – please, call me Arthur and never worry about sending me information quickly or as you have it. I’ve charmed my coin to alert me of your communications, so I will always be available when and as you need me.

I dispatched a trusted member of the Order to the scene, I am waiting on a full report, but this individual has indicated that they took care of the muggle Police and have control of the crime scene. Please let me know what new information you have when you can as we are currently delaying releasing any information to the Ministry while we develop a plan.

While I am still awaiting further details, it is my understanding that the scene was… a bit of a bloodbath. I trust that the two of you are okay, though I suspect you will not clarify why you knew about the incident. However, I must ask – where is the werewolf corpse?

Regards,

Arthur

-x-x-

Arthur,

Yes, we are well. Please know that we will provide any information to you that we can as we get it – though we may not always be able to disclose how we gathered the information or why we know it. We hope you can trust us in these situations and know that we will only communicate information with integrity when we are confident in our findings. It pains me to ask you for your assistance on this issue, but we are aware that it is not something that we can address alone and that we need to work together to win this war. Please know that it means so much to us that you continually offer your support.

As you are aware, there have been muggle disappearances in the Birmingham area. It started with the homeless and other people who would likely go unnoticed – though, I’m afraid now these abductions have become more brazen, and the muggle Police have been publicly issuing warnings for citizens to stay indoors at night. Harry and I have confirmed that these abductions are linked to an underground (literally) werewolf den in Birmingham that is being led by someone named Arlo with involvement from a man named Eric. 

They are capturing muggles and infecting them with lycanthropy to turn them into werewolves to grow an army for You Know Who. We suspect that he and his followers are preparing for a large move in the war, which may result in an outright battle. Since wizarding blood is so valuable to You Know Who and the werewolves are such strong allies, they have concocted this operation to solve two problems: 

1. spare wizarding lives and purebloods from being infected (we both know YouKnowWho doesn’t actually support werewolves and will throw them aside when he is done with them), and 
2. to create a devastating brute force army that they desire. 

At this time, I am unsure how the process works, but this man Arlo seems to be using bonding magic that involves a golden band to complete the process. The muggle werewolves are then bonded to a wizard who seems to be able to control them with simple commands. Once I have the bonding mechanism solved, I will give you more details but regardless of how or why – the important thing is that this is happening now, and we must do something. We cannot stand by and allow You Know Who to take the lives of innocent muggles while we claim to oppose him in the war and feign righteousness. 

Otherwise, we are no better than he – and this, I’m afraid, is where we need your help. 

We have confirmed that the werewolves are operating out of a den near Fish Pond, off Netherhall Ave and that they use the underground muggle sewer system to get around. We need to find a way to infiltrate this space and put a stop to this operation. We also need to find a way to more effectively warn the muggles to stay indoors at night until this has been completed. 

In the meantime – we have a man with us who was part of the operation. We have questioned him, but we believe he may have more information available if questioned under legilimency. Unfortunately, I do not possess this skill, so I am unable to do it without risking damaging the man’s mind. Does the Order have anyone with this skill? And if so, would you be willing to take this man briefly into custody for further questioning before he is released? 

If yes, please note that it is imperative that you obliviate the man after questioning and then release him. As I am sure you will understand and appreciate, we need to avoid suspicion until the den in Birmingham can be addressed in full. Otherwise, the operation may pack up and move, and we will be left with a cold trail

To answer your question… I currently have the werewolf corpse. Similar to the man who is with us, I need to turn it over to you, and we need the report filed at the Ministry to officially address and state the following details:

1.  We need a reason for why a trusted Ministry member or wizard would have been in the area. Do you have any suggestions? Perhaps there is someone monitoring the muggle crime reports looking for anything suspicious, and you can claim intervention when the muggles reported a large wolf – you can claim that the Police were obliviated.
2.  The man we may return to you fled the scene and suffered only minor injuries, his location is unknown, and only a brief physical description was captured.
3.  The werewolf was killed on scene and is documented as a wizarding werewolf.
4.  The deceased man on site stood his ground and fought to the death.
5.  The incident needs to be logged as a random accident and not linked to the abductions in any way.

Please let me know your thoughts and if you are able to accept the werewolf corpse and the man. If so, we need to arrange a drop location.

Thank you,

Hermione

-x-x-

Hermione,

I understand and agree with your notes – I will work with Kingsley and our Order resources to properly document the crime scene with the muggle Police and at the Ministry. I will ensure that the findings are listed appropriately and that no connection is made between our involvement and any investigation into the muggle disappearances. 

Rest assured that I will take care of this – you do not need to worry. I fully appreciate the subtlety of discrete political warfare and information management, and I am pleased that you are already thinking about it. I will protect this information, and it will be fully taken care of.

As it so happens, we do still have some skill with legilimency in our group – though, it is limited. We can take the man for additional questioning and will release him once his memory has been wiped. I can take the werewolf corpse as well – which I will have the appropriate people turn over to the Ministry evidence room to help avoid any suspicions.

I know that it is late, and you two are probably tired – I’m not sure that I want to imagine what you have been through tonight – but we will need to make a drop very soon if we are going to make this work and cover our tracks in order to set ourselves up for success to stop this abominable operation. So I will make contact with a few resources in order to get things started based on what you’ve just told me.

Are you able to meet at 2:47 am? 

I will confirm the location with you shortly, but the format will be that of a standard drop (typical Order procedure, I never thought to tell you two these things in the past) which involves showing up at the designated area at the exact designated time and dropping the goods before apparating away immediately. You should not be present at the location for more than a second, and live drops should be stunned and bound.

Let me know if this works. I’ll send you a location.

Arthur

-x-x-

“Did you get the band off?” Harry asked as he approached behind Hermione.

They had agreed to Arthur’s drop time and then immediately got to work and split their tasks. Harry had taken over the journal communications with Arthur, coordinating the drop location, passing along additional information on the werewolf activities and informing Arthur of the victim’s name. Hermione worked expertly to examine the werewolf’s body to look for any clues or lingering magic. She jotted notes down in her book, knowing that they had limited time before they needed to apparate to the drop location, then finally began removing the golden band. She had just stored it securely in her chest when Harry returned to her.

“Just finished – was easier the second time. I think having two might help me finally figure out how they work,” Hermione said, standing from the ground and carefully returning the chest into her open purse. “Is he secured and ready to go?”

“Yeah, freshly stunned and bound – per Arthur’s directions,” Harry said as he glanced over his shoulder at the man still tethered to the cave wall.

“How long do we have?”

“Five minutes.”

“Okay, well, let’s feather-light this werewolf again and get ready.”

-x-x-

Arthur Weasley paced nervously in his basement workshop. 

This was certainly not how he thought he would be spending his Sunday night. He’d gone to bed early, exhausted from the terrible week and weekend before. He had been fully ready to drift off into nothingness and let sleep take him – but when the coin he kept on him at all times began to burn against the skin of his ankle, he woke quickly and slid out of bed. He still had not told Mrs. Weasley about the magazine or his communication with Harry and Hermione, so he was thankful that his wife was a deep sleeper. After he snuck down to the basement, he decoded Hermione’s message and then contacted Shacklebolt immediately after he read it. 

They were lucky.

Shacklebolt managed to get a trusted Order member to the crime scene before any other tainted members arrived. He had yet to receive a full report of the incident, but the initial update had been startling. Apparently, the alley was drenched in blood and looked very much like something out of a muggle horror movie.

After that, things moved rapidly. Each task flashed by like lightning. He switched between his communication with Harry and Shacklebolt while coordinating the drop area and arranging for everyone to meet him at one of their last remaining safe houses so the package could be questioned. It had been ages since they had completed any sort of interrogation. Snape was typically the one to do the questioning on their behalf, so Arthur truly had no idea what to expect this time around. Though, Shacklebolt had assured him that his new legilimens man would be ‘effective’.

He ran a hand over his tired face and let out a sigh.

He hadn’t been able to sneak back upstairs to change for fear of waking Molly and had instead transfigured his sleeping outfit into traditional robes, donning the old moth-eaten jacket that hung in his workshop for warmth. He would be making the drop tonight, and he would be doing it alone. He hadn’t trusted anyone else with the location information, and Shacklebolt had agreed, stating that he would meet him at the safehouse at 2:48am. So, in three minutes, he would be apparating from the Burrow to a tiny snow-covered hill on the east coast just outside of Hemsby to collect the two bodies. He would then take them to the safehouse, meet with Shacklebolt and the new legilimens, and assist with the questioning. It was going to be a long night.

He drummed his fingers nervously on the back of his chair, urging his breath and racing thoughts to calm down. For the first time in months, he might catch a glimpse of Harry and Hermione. It would only be for a fraction of a second, and it would only happen if they apparated directly in front of him, but it made him anxious with anticipation. He had no idea what to expect. Everything leading up to this moment had been so hectic that he hadn’t had a moment to think, and now his mind was flooding with questions.

How did the two of them manage to take a man captive for questioning? How had they gotten him to talk? Better yet, how on earth had they managed to bring a werewolf corpse with them while apparating? How was the werewolf killed?

He didn’t know if there had been an internal struggle on Voldemort’s side and if the man they had with them was a potential defect or if they themselves had somehow managed to injure the creature. Werewolves were not exactly the easiest of beasts to dispatch, and he found himself frowning as he pondered the different options. He hadn’t asked yet via the journal. They had been too focused on arranging the drop point and exchanging critical information that he would need to help shut this disgusting operation down. But if Arthur was being honest – he didn’t want to ask. 

He was afraid of the answer, and afraid of what he might learn.

Seeing Ginny at Christmas – her determination, what she was willing to sacrifice to fight in the war and how far she was willing to go shook him. He knew that Harry and Hermione were just as tenacious if not more so, and he knew the answers to his questions might not be easy to digest. He wasn’t naïve. He knew that war changed people; he just hoped that it hadn’t changed them too much.

Arthur eyed the clock on his workshop wall; per the Order’s standard drop procedure, he was to arrive about five seconds before them and be prepared to pick up the dropped packages immediately. Counting down from ten, he closed his eyes and then apparated away perfectly in sync with his internal timer. 

The cold air bit at his face the second he landed on the snow-covered hill. It attacked his warming charm and ate through his thin old coat. But he ignored it completely, casting a rapid detection spell to ensure that no one else was around before he narrowed his eyes and tried to make out any shapes in the darkness. If not for the small amount of moonlight reflecting off the snow, he wouldn’t be able to see anything, but the faint glow highlighted the hilltop and his eyes were already well adjusted from standing in his dark workshop while he coordinated their plans. 

Exactly five seconds after his arrival, he heard the unmistakably pop of an apparition as a large collection of figures appeared before him, and he felt his heart stuttered in his chest. It didn’t matter that they were only visible for less than a second. It didn’t matter that it was dark and freezing and that his mind was exhausted. 

He would never be able to un-see the split-second image of Harry and Hermione appearing covered in blood against the crisp white snowy backdrop.

They had landed together on the hilltop; Harry holding a man with a bashed and bloodied face by the wrist, his opposite hand gripping the back of Hermione’s neck as she held the severed head of a werewolf in her left hand and the body of it in her right. Had he blinked, he would have missed them, for they dropped the bodies and disapparated exactly in line with the procedure he had given. 

But he hadn’t blinked. 

He saw the blood that stained their clothes. He saw the worn looks on their hard faces, Harry’s long hair that was caked in blood, Hermione’s stained hands and powerful stance – and the unforgiving harshness that radiated from their eyes.

He swallowed hard in the cold as he stared at the bodies before him. It seemed that the questions which had addled his mind had just been answered… all in less than a second.

Along with all future Snape POV chapters, this chapter is dedicated to FluffyPandaShip – who is a beacon of light in my life. You are a wonderful human being, and you bring more joy to my world than you can imagine. I had not originally considered writing from Snape’s POV in this story. Not because I didn’t want to (far from it) but because initially, this story was going to be so much smaller than it is now. That, however, has changed – and since this story has grown, I’ve become interested in rounding it out and giving a more realistic depiction of the war from different perspectives. Your suggestion to include Snape’s POV inspired me and helped me to develop and thicken the plot just a little bit more. And, hopefully, it will give more substance to some of the other minor characters.

It seems that this story will continue to grow and expand until it is told exactly the way I want it to be.

-x-x-

Warnings:

This chapter contains: torture, murder, and Voldemort being a generally bad guy.

Nothing was written in excess or for shock value, but some may find this chapter difficult and/or upsetting to read. As such, I have placed a two-sentence summary at the bottom of the chapter so that you can skip it if you wish.

******************************************

September 1997

Hogwarts

For the first time in possibly the entire history of Hogwarts, the Great Hall was silent during dinner. 

Though, it did absolutely nothing to calm the tension felt by every single person sitting there. If anything, the silence made things worse. Each clink of glass, each movement of a plate, and every scratch of a knife echoed out across the Hall as students tried to keep their heads down while they ate and avoided looking anywhere near the head table. Everyone, that is, except the exceptionally irritating and problematic redhead who continued to glare directly at him. He was fairly confident that she had not taken a single bite of her meal the whole evening.

How could she have? 

She was sitting rigid as a board, clenching her fork so tightly it had started to bend and dig into the table. The daggers she glared at him were matched only by that idiot boy, Longbottom. He would take a bite of his food, shoot a glare through narrowed eyes at the head table, and then repeat the process. The two of them had already caused more trouble than he needed – organizing a break-in to his office and trying to steal the sword of Gryffindor, a fake sword, mind you, but no one else knew that. They had almost gotten it too. If he hadn’t caught them on the staircase on their way out, they would have managed to pull it off. If this was any indication of how the remainder of the school year would go, Snape was already out of patience for it.

It wasn’t like he didn’t understand the hatred, why it was directed at him, and why the students were terrified to make a peep while they ate. It was only the third week of school, and the Carrows had already set a record for the greatest number of detentions ever assigned. Snape wouldn’t have cared, if he was being honest, the students were little terrors, and more of them deserved detention, but the problem was the type of detentions that the Carrows prescribed. 

Their cruel, sadistic nature was creative even by Death Eater standards. So, if his life wasn’t difficult enough as it was with keeping tabs on Potter, Granger, and the redheaded ape – he now had to manage the Carrows’s brutality and keep them from killing, maiming, or mentally debilitating the students.

So far, he had been able to keep things under control, prevent any major injuries, and even reassign several detentions to Hagrid, who he trusted to keep the students safe. Worst case, he knew that he would be able to Imperius the Carrows and then wipe their memories to prevent any devastating detentions or life-threatening situations, but he was hoping to avoid that for as long as possible. It would be risky, and it would leave evidence that would lead to suspicion. Even the students would begin to question him if he didn’t allow the Carrows to be appalling to some degree – it was all about balance. 

Right now, he expected that the glares being sent by the two championing Gryffindors had something to do with that young blond boy getting the word ‘dunce’ carved into the back of his hand. The Carrows had apparently found a collection of unique quills, the ones that Umbridge had favoured in fifth year, and they had taken a liking to them. But those were the least of his concerns right now. The cuts would heal, and there would be no other lingering damage or dark magic consequences. So, while it was painful, the students would just have to grit their teeth and bear it.

Snape shot a glare to the Gryffindor table, and he was pleased to see that everyone there who had been sneaking glances at him all averted their eyes back to their plates. Everyone but the redhead. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to get herself killed, and there would be nothing that he could do to stop it. While he didn’t relish the idea of killing students or letting them die, he had always known it would become a very real possibility at some point once the war reached its breaking point. Everything that Dumbledore had planned was coming to a head, and now he was left alone dealing with the mess, living daily with the consequences of the mistake he made seventeen years ago. 

A mistake he would regret every second of every day for the rest of his miserable life until he inevitably died in this war.

He had always known that things would end one of three ways: prison, death, or living out his sad wretched life alone. But, as events continued and time went on, the third option seemed less plausible. He had done too much, seen too much, and was guilty of far too many crimes to ever have his name cleared and be allowed to live a life outside of this war. 

After killing Dumbledore, the first option faded too. People wanted his head. They wanted him to pay for what he did, and they would never allow him to rot away in Azkaban. This left him with only one final possibility, and in a strange way, he was looking forward to it. He was looking forward to dying; it would be nice to get some peace and quiet for once. 

Besides, it wasn’t like he deserved to live out the remainder of his life after what he had done. It would be for the best when his clock ran out. The only unknown now was how and when it would happen. His only final wish was that he got to see the Dark Lord fall before he took his last breath. That was the only thing he asked for.

He turned his eyes back to his plate, deciding to ignore the Weasley girl and instead debate whether or not he should eat the potatoes that were growing cold. Nothing looked appealing. His appetite was barely existent from the stress, and he hardly trusted eating anything served to him anymore. If not for the magical properties of Hogwarts binding the House-elves so that they physically could not poison him, they would have already done it. Even still, it was clear from the food they sent him that they were displeased. 

He had once received a slice of cake with the word ‘traitor’ spelled out in red icing on top. Undoubtably it was from Dobby – the elf was nothing if not bold and loyal.

Seems fitting, he thought as he rolled his eyes internally but kept his face passive and unreadable to the room. Just another way to atone for my sins – starvation.

He placed his fork back on the table, deciding it was best not to chance it. He would just make himself something to eat when he returned to the Headmaster’s quarters – nothing like plain toast for dinner for the third night in a row.

When the meal finally ended, and the students began returning to their house dormitories, Snape swiftly stood, sidestepping McGonagall as he went. She was staring at him with a mixture of emotions – sadness, disappointment, and anger. It did little to improve his mood. That was probably the number one item on his list out of everything he hated about returning to Hogwarts after killing Dumbledore – the betrayed looks that his fellow staff gave him. It wasn’t like they were ever close. Hell, he wasn’t even friendly with most of them. He had spent the last seventeen years working two jobs, following Dumbledore’s orders, and playing a role. He had never had the time or the opportunity to make friends or build a life. That was his role, that was his sacrifice, and he accepted it. 

But their looks of disgust and their murmurs about his treachery felt like another weight added to the ever-growing bundle he carried on his shoulders.

Out of all the professors, he regretted lying to McGonagall most. 

She had always stood by him in the past and treated him kindly despite his unpleasant nature and terrible qualities. He knew he wasn’t a good person, he had never been, but he wasn’t quite as bad as they all believed him to be either. Though, he supposed it was a testament to his performance as a double agent that they all loathed him now. At the very least, his mission had been successful so far, even if it was exhausting and difficult at times. 

He feared that it would become more and more difficult to maintain the role that Dumbledore had cast him in if his co-workers continued to voice their displeasure and visibly rebel against him and the Carrows. Their incessant need to help was becoming his biggest concern, and it added more pressure to his already exceedingly difficult job. If they weren’t careful, they too would end up with their heads on the chopping block, right there next to the Weasley girl’s. He may be the Dark Lord’s right-hand man, but he could only do so much.

He barged through the door to the Headmaster’s office and sealed it behind him. He hated this room. He hated every single thing about this damned office – especially the portraits that constantly watched and critiqued everything. They were a bunch of nosey old bags with nothing better to do than listen in and give their two cents when it wasn’t required or requested. Thank Merlin they were bound to Hogwarts and the acting Headmaster so they couldn’t betray the conversations that happened in this room. Though typically, it was just the one portrait that bothered him most…

“Severus, we need to discuss something,” Dumbledore’s familiar voice called out to him from the wall on the right of his oversized desk.

Ahh yes, Snape thought as he approached the desk and draped his frock coat over the chair. He could feel his sarcasm igniting in his core as he turned to look at the portrait. There he is – my most favourite portrait of all.

“What?” Snape asked in a clipped tone. He knew this was part of the job but dealing with Dumbledore’s constant requests or need to chat, even in death, was just another reminder of his life’s mistakes.

“The Weasley boy,” Dumbledore supplied. “He’s left as I expected.”

“And what do you want me to do about that?” Snape asked as he leaned back against the desk and arched an eyebrow. His eyes flashed to the right, unsurprised to see Phineas standing proudly in his frame next to Dumbledore’s. He had clearly gathered some new information on the trio and had been speaking to Dumbledore while he was out of the office. “Go fetch him and return him to his friends? Should I tie his shoelaces for him, too? Perhaps give the three of them an instruction manual, or should I just resolve this war entirely by myself?”

“Severus, there’s no need to be snide,” Dumbledore said calmly, which only irritated Snape more. “You know they need to do this part on their own. I had anticipated Ron leaving; it just seems that Harry and Hermione took it a little differently than I thought they would.”

“Well, what did you expect them to do? Chase after him? The boy’s an idiot, even more so than Potter – and that’s saying something. Do they need him to finish the task?” Snape asked as his frustration continued to grow. It annoyed him to no end that Dumbledore had still not revealed what the task was that they were working on. The only thing he did know was that it was critical to defeating the Dark Lord. However, knowing that piece of information only made it harder to sleep, because trusting a bunch of children on a task that allegedly would tip the war in their favour was ridiculous.

Brilliant strategy, Dumbledore, he thought in annoyance as his temper started to flare. Just brilliant.

“Well,” Dumbledore paused for a moment and seemed to consider the situation. “Not exactly, though they are stronger together than apart. I suppose we will just have to wait and see what Ron does – though I expect he will return in time.”

“Great,” Snape said as he pushed off the desk and made for the door in the corner of the office that led to his own private living quarters. 

It was the only place he could truly be alone, the only place that was safe for him to speak his thoughts out loud or sleep without anyone overhearing or watching his motions. It was one of the few things about being a Headmaster that he actually enjoyed, the small security of his own quarters to retreat to after long days and nights spent playing two people. Plain toast was calling his name, and he currently did not have the capacity to sit and listen to Dumbledore speak as he pretended to be helpful but really told him nothing at all.

“Now that we have that settled,” Snape sneered as he reached for the door.

“Severus, wait,” Dumbledore called. “We need to discuss how to get the sword of Gryffindor to them–”

“And what exactly would you like to discuss about that?” Snape practically spat through his teeth as he turned back to the annoying portrait. He was only a foot or two away from peace and quiet, and he desperately wanted to get some sleep before he was summoned to Malfoy Manor again. He had been summoned twice this past week, and each time, he hadn’t returned to the school until after 4 am. He did not have the energy to deal with this right now. “We don’t know where they are, which makes it a bit difficult to deliver a sword, and I’d like to remind you that you were the one who refused to tell the boy anything useful – or Granger. She at least has some brain cells. You could have given her information. Maybe told her that Phineas wasn’t a spy for the Dark Lord – that he could be a point of contact between you. They’ve been incredibly careful, and they never give away their location while he is out of the bag – not for lack of him trying–”

“Thank you–“Phineas piped up, puffing his chest slightly and giving a quick nod before Snape continued.

“The most I can do is try to charm the portrait so he can hear when the bag is opened while he’s still inside it. And as you might recall, you refused to let me put a trace on the boy. So tell me, Dumbledore, what exactly is it that you would like to discuss? How exactly is it that you would like me to deliver the sword? Shall I try mailing it to them? Send it with an owl? Perhaps put an ad in a muggle newspaper titled ‘used sword, free delivery’?”

Dumbledore frowned at him from his portrait, the crease between his brows deepening before he pushed his half-moon spectacles up the bridge of his nose. He was clearly unimpressed by Snape’s behaviour and displeased with how the conversation had gone.

“I can see that now is not a good time,” Dumbledore said quietly. “Let’s chat tomorrow, Severus – and do try to get some rest.”

“Looking forward to it,” Snape said through gritted teeth as he turned away and closed the distance to the door. 

His fist balled at his side as he wrenched at the handle with his opposite hand. Dumbledore was one of the few people who could aggravate him into a physical display of emotion – the Marauders were the only other ones who had managed to accomplish that on a regular basis. He had just pushed through the door and let out a sigh when he felt the familiar burn across his left forearm. 

The call from the Dark Lord.

“For fuck’s sake,” he said angrily as he turned around and stormed back into the Headmaster’s office, stopping only briefly to grab his frock coat. He apparated away before Dumbledore could open his mouth again.

-x-x-

“Ahhh, Severus, so good of you to join us.”

The purr of Lucius’ voice made Snape roll his eyes internally, though he maintained his cool look of indifference as he turned to face the Malfoy. He had arrived at the Manor only seconds after his flesh began to burn, putting on his frock coat as he walked through the gate and down the long drive to the Manor. It was irritating that he still could not apparate directly into the house, but that right was reserved for Malfoy blood only and the Dark Lord. So instead, it took him a whole five minutes to make it from the gate and into the front door. At least he didn’t have to stand outside like the rest of the Death Eaters and wait for someone to let him in. The Dark Lord had insisted that he be allowed access to come and go without waiting once he was on the property.

Tonight, he hadn’t even made it four steps into the foyer before Lucius crept up from the left. Snape knew he was there; he just hated how the man spoke as if there was a choice. 

Of course I would be joining you. What an incredibly moronic thing to say, Snape thought as he closed the distance between them. 

Upon first glance, Lucius looked as impeccable as ever. Expensive robes, new shoes, the classic Malfoy smirk plastered across his overly handsome face while he stood trying to look taller than he was – wanting to project his sense of ownership over his home to those who entered even though everyone knew he had long since lost it to the Dark Lord.

“Lucius,” Snape said slowly, his eyes darting over the man before him and picking up all the little details that he was trying to hide. 

A slight crinkle on his shirt collar, a small scuff on his new shoe, a microscopic shimmer below his eyes betrayed the glamour he was using to cover up the dark circles, and a dullness to his hair that wasn’t usually present revealed his deteriorating health. Yes, the stress was getting to Lucius Malfoy, though Snape supposed that was to be expected. After all, the Dark Lord had infested this man’s house for the last year and put incredible demands on his family.

“We will be meeting in the second-floor drawing room tonight,” Lucius said as he stepped toward the large staircase to their right.

Snape didn’t miss the minuscule twitch next to Lucius’s right eye, and he steeled his nerves. As detached as he was from his emotions, he did not enjoy nights like tonight. The twitch had given it away. The Dark Lord had brought company to the Manor, and he suspected that the night would be a long one. 

Divulging nothing on his own feelings, he followed closely behind Lucius up the stairs. He could hear several other voices as they drew closer – Bellatrix of course, she would never miss out on a night of fun, and Scabior, who had probably collected the guests.

When he entered the room, he noticed two other snatchers near Scabior. Narcissa was there too, standing quietly against the left wall and looking as worn as her husband. Then there was the Dark Lord himself. 

No matter how many times Snape saw him, those blood-red eyes always sent a small shiver down his back and made his blood run cold. Snape wasn’t ashamed to say he was afraid of the Dark Lord – you would be a fool not to be. The man, if you could even call him that now, was evil, tyrannical, merciless, and an absolute abomination. Snape’s eyes shifted down to the center of the room. Someone had removed the long table, and before them sat a Goblin, Marley the apothecary keeper from Godric’s Hollow, Herbert the herbologist from Mould-On-The-Wall, and Dean Thomas – former Hogwarts student. Each of them was bound to a chair, and they all looked ragged.

“Sseeverus,” Voldemort hissed, his flat face twisting into a wicked smile as Snape entered the room and stood to the right near Lucius. “Glad you’ve made it – now we can get started. As you know, we are interested in gaining control over supplies. Several greenhouses have already pledged their allegiance, and we have come to an agreement with most apothecaries.”

Snape nodded once. He already knew this information, and he knew that by ‘agreement’, the Dark Lord meant that they had killed one apothecary owner already and kidnapped the wife of another until the man agreed to cooperate. There was no such thing as a bargain when dealing with the Dark Lord – he got what he wanted one way or another. It was just a question of how long it would take or how much you were willing to lose until you gave it to him.

“I’m pleased to introduce Marley, apothecary owner in Godric’s Hollow and Herbert, who runs one of the largest greenhouses. We’ve been interested in striking a deal with them for some time.”

They hadn’t been able to find them.

Marley had gone into hiding and spent the last few weeks distributing her goods secretly. Herbert had warded himself into his greenhouse underground, putting up an extensive fight until finally the werewolves were able to bombard their way in under Bellatrix’s command. Dean was lucky. The Dark Lord hadn’t mentioned him by name yet, so he might still survive the night. He was likely captured by accident around the same time as the Goblin, so he might manage to get away with minor torture before being held in the Malfoy dungeons. He could see Dean glancing up toward him. His cheek was bruised and split; he was trying to catch Snape’s eye with a glare, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. 

Snape bit back a sigh. There was nothing that he could do here. It would be unfortunate if the Dark Lord decided to kill Dean, but he wouldn’t be able to intervene. It would be Charity Burbage all over again and yet another weight to add to his shoulders.

“I’m not helping you,” Marley spat, her eyes wide with anger as she pulled against the bindings on her chair.

Apparently, not everyone here is as smart, Snape thought with an inward sigh as the Dark Lord’s eyes snapped directly to Marley. Had Marley been more clever, she would have cooperated – or at least pretended to. She could have sabotaged the goods given to the Death Eaters, worked underground with the remains of the Order, or at least kept herself alive until the war was over, then helped with the restoration efforts that would undoubtedly be needed. 

Her fate was all but sealed now.

“Isss that so?” Voldemort said quietly. His red eyes practically glowed in the low light of the room as he took a step toward her.

Snape saw the woman visibly shiver; her bottom lip trembled at the Dark Lord’s closeness, and her eyes widened in fear. Still, he applauded her courage as she jutted out her chin and looked at the Dark Lord defiantly. It was just a shame that her bravery was wasted.

“Yes,” she said, head held high. If she thought she would just be held captive, she was sorely mistaken. The Dark Lord didn’t take prisoners unless they held some sort of value, and an uncooperative apothecary owner had no value. She would be replaced with someone else more willing to complete the role the Dark Lord had planned.

“And what would your family think of that?” Voldemort hissed against her ear as her whole body began to shake. 

He had always enjoyed pushing into people’s personal space and pushing their boundaries; he knew how uncomfortable it made them. He knew how much people feared him, feared his appearance, and were revolted by how he moved and spoke. He fed off their fear, craving the revulsion and satisfying his power-hungry ego from their reaction. The more you reacted, the more he would take.

“I don’t have any family.”

Voldemort leaned back and looked toward Narcissa, who nodded once in confirmation. She was in charge of data collection on key personnel, among other tasks – her years of high society living, traversing gossip circles, knowing everyone in the wizarding world and their heritage had become her skill in the war. Who would have guessed that such a selfish, materialistic, and vain woman who was only interested in self-preservation would become such a highly ranked member of the Dark Lord’s circle? She had long since surpassed Lucius’s role and was actually respected by the Death Eaters and utilized by the Dark Lord with confidence despite not having the mark herself.

She hated it; Snape knew. She had confided in him months ago. 

The knowledge that her information often was the deciding factor in whether or not someone lived or died weighed heavy on her mind. It had started to eat away at her soul and change her as a person. It certainly didn’t help that many of the deaths happened in her home, staining her floors both literally and figuratively. The things that happened here would never be erased, and she had said she worried that she would never be clean again. 

It was easy as a wealthy pureblood to believe that you were better than everyone else, to know your superiority, to fall into step with the prejudiced teachings of your established family and support the cause. But it was different when you saw it. It was different when it happened in your home, when the blood was spilled on your marble – when it was on your hands because you pulled the trigger and you gave the nod. It was different when they involved your son and tried to put blood on his hands too. Narcissa had begun to learn the hard way that sometimes what you think things are is not their reality – and that maybe, she was wrong.

“Then we have nothing more to speak about,” Voldemort said as he returned his eyes to Marley. “Crucio.”

The woman screamed loudly. The sounds tore from her throat like broken glass as she seized in her chair against the bindings. Her limbs tried to thrash out, but they were strapped to the chair and unable to move, so the whole seat vibrated instead. Dean’s eyes went wide at the sound before he clamped them shut and turned his head away. There was no need for the torture. The Dark Lord wouldn’t question her again or ask her to help. He would kill her. He was doing this because he wanted to, because he could, and to show Herbert what was coming if he refused to cooperate. The Dark Lord never granted easy deaths because that would be merciful, and blood-traitors deserved pain and agony. 

You suffered first, and only then would he kill you.

“Avada Kedavra.” 

The word was spoken so normally that if it wasn’t for the bright flash of green, one might have thought nothing would happen. It felt like catching the tail end of a casual conversation. But Marley went still in her chair. The screams stopped instantly though Snape could still hear them echoing in his mind. Even if he did return at a decent hour, he doubted he would find any rest tonight.

“Herbert.” Voldemort turned, pacing down the row of chairs to the large man at the end closest to Narcissa. “I understand that you have a daughter?”

Narcissa nodded once more when the Dark Lord glanced to her for confirmation. Snape did not miss the twitch of her left hand against her robe as she gave it. Children affected her more. They were the hardest thing for her to detach herself from.

“I would like to propose a new business deal,” Voldemort said as he leaned down in front of the man and gave him a dangerous smile. “An arrangement for supplies.”

“Yes,” Herbert said; his eyes were clouded over with tears, and his hands were trembling at his sides against the chair. “Yes – we would be honoured to arrange a supply deal.”

Clearly, knowing that the Dark Lord had knowledge of his hidden daughter was enough to break the man – that combined with having a friend tortured and killed next to you. Marley and Herbert had worked together in potion supplies for over fifteen years and Leena, Herbert’s squib daughter, was his pride and joy that he had tried to hide once the shadows of war started to grow three years ago.

“Good,” Voldemort said as he turned and walked toward Narcissa. “Place the others in the dungeons, keep them unspoiled – we might need them later because of their association with Potter and knowledge of Gringotts. Make arrangements with Herbert for regular deliveries as discussed.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Narcissa nodded, keeping her head bowed, no doubt hiding her emotion.

“Lucius.” Voldemort turned toward the blonde, the motion slow and dangerous. His body practically slid across the floor as a serpent’s would. He stopped before Lucius, much too close for comfort. His eyes were lethal as they stared down the man next to Snape, who was currently doing his best not to quiver. Then he spoke again in a lowered hiss so that only Snape and Lucius could hear. “Ensure that this time you don’t disappoint me. The deliveries are required every month, and I expect you to verify the stock before you drop it off.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Lucius bowed similarly to Narcissa, though his voice wasn’t as strong. He had been on the receiving end of the Dark Lord’s wrath for quite some time. Frankly, it was a wonder the man was still alive at all.

“Severus, once the first round of supplies arrives, I need you to brew more veritaserum and deliver it to the usual location.” His eyes flicked over to Snape, but he remained standing in front of Lucius, pressing into the man’s personal space and enjoying the discomfort that radiated from his worn frame.

“Yes, my Lord,” Severus echoed like the rest, inclining his head.

“Bellatrix! Give one round to Herbert for wasting our time at the greenhouse and laying waste to our resources. He will not be spared again,” Voldemort snapped his head toward her before he turned on his heel and apparated away.

A disturbing cackle of joy split the air of the room as Bellatrix all but danced her way over to Herbert. Her smile was almost as crazed as her eyes, her wand twirling between her fingers as she cocked her head to the side to look at the man.

“Oh Herbert, Herbert, Herbert,” she cooed, puffing a curl out of her face as she leaned down to grin widely at him. “I told you, you should have come out. Crucio!”

Narcissa moved quickly. She was already standing before Dean when Bellatrix cast the spell. Herbert’s screams split through the air as he writhed in pain under Bellatrix’s curse, and the woman flinched at the sound. Snape watched as she hauled Dean from his bindings and began to lead him out of the room to the dungeons at wand point – of course she chose to take him from the room first; any young kid reminded her of Draco. But just like him, Snape knew that Narcissa would do nothing to help the other guests tonight, because there was nothing that they could do – at least not yet.

So, for now, he would do what he always did. He would grit and bear it. Snape would ignore Narcissa’s wince, he would tune out Herbert’s gut-wrenching cries, and he would dismiss the tremble he felt from Lucius’s body next to his. He would detach himself, swallow his own agony, and occlude everything away. 

He would pretend not to care about the lives of the people before him, because war was toxic and crushing – and it would kill you if you let it.

-x-x-

Two Sentence Summary:

Snape struggles to prevent the Carrows from excessively torturing the students at Hogwarts while figuring out how to deliver the Sword of Gryffindor to Harry and Hermione. Snape is summoned to Malfoy Manor, where we learn that Dean and Griphook have been captured, Voldemort is working to gain the upper hand in the war and control potion supplies, then: Voldemort tortures and kills an apothecary owner who refuses to help, he forces Herbert the herbologist to work with them and provide supplies, and Dean is brought to the Manor dungeon by Narcissa who has become a prominent figure in the war.

Hermione woke with a start, her hand instantly finding her wand next to her pillow. Her fingers curled around it reflexively faster than a heartbeat as she jolted upright in bed and extended her arm. Her eyes were wide and wild as she scanned the tent before her. Her heart was racing so rapidly, she could hear it in her ears, and her body was rigid with tension as her senses grew overloaded on high alert. She completed a mental check of their wards, then cast a wordless detection spell to look for danger or intruders – but nothing was out of the ordinary. The tent was completely void of enemies, the antivenom potion was stewing quietly in the potion lab to her left, and the familiar sound of wind tearing across the tent echoed around the room.

There was absolutely nothing within the tent to cause the cold terror that gripped her heart, made her stomach knot, and her hand twitch in readiness. She was ready and willing to eradicate the nearest threat without a blink of hesitation. Yet she was left panting upright in bed with nothing there but the feeling racing through her veins. She glanced around again and again until she finally felt the warmth of Harry’s hand on her waist and his soft voice near her ear. Her pulse slowed as his thumb traced over the bare skin of her hip bone which was peeking out between her shirt hem and her pajama pants, and his words soothed the rigid stiffness from her body.

“Hey – it’s okay,” Harry whispered. “It’s just us.”

She felt her shoulders relax as she took a deep breath. The air shook as is left her lungs, and she slowly lowered her wand. It had been two nights since they made the drop to Arthur Weasley, and this had happened on both. She would wake just before dawn with a cold shiver tracing down her spine, and her body switched to autopilot. Then she would shoot upright in bed, ready to attack. 

She let out a sigh and allowed Harry to pull her back down into the warm sheets, storing the wand by her pillow once more and turning on her opposite side so she could curl into his chest. He didn’t say anything else; he just wrapped his strong arms around her tightly, and she tucked her head under his chin against the bare skin of his chest.

There wasn’t anything else to say. There wasn’t anything that he could do to help her except to be there with her. Which he was and had been since the moment they arrived back in the North after dropping off the packages to Arthur.

Neither one of them had even considered their appearance before they apparated to make the drop; there hadn’t been time to check their reflection in a mirror or take a shower. As a result, they truly did not anticipate just how terrifyingly horrendous they looked until after they returned and set up the tent. 

That night, they had made their way to the bathroom to clean up, both of them moving slowly with exhaustion as the adrenaline from the night’s events finally wore off. Finally, they entered the small room, only to find that they were caked in dried blood and worn with dirt. She looked like something from a nightmare with a ghastly expression. Both of them appeared vicious and hardened. Hermione’s hair was protruding at odd angles, the knees of her jeans were ripped from kneeling on the ground, and the grime and blood that stuck to her seemed like it was permanently a part of her body. 

Harry had been no better. His ponytail could hardly be called a ponytail anymore – it hung low and limp from the back of his head, held mostly in place by the dried blood and frozen water that coated it. He, too, looked like he had been rolling in a dirty, bloodied pool, which was not far off from what they had been through. It was in that moment as she stood before the mirror that Hermione wondered if Arthur had caught a glimpse of them on the snow-covered hill, though part of her hoped he hadn’t. She wasn’t sure how to feel about him knowing what they had been through or what they had become.

Three scourgifies and a hot steaming shower later, Hermione still hadn’t felt clean. The blood, it had been everywhere. Both she and Harry had burned their clothes Monday morning after they first awoke before starting the antivenom potion. They hadn’t discussed it; they both just knew that they never wanted to wear or see those clothes again because the fabric would never be rid of the death that lingered within the fibers. 

Despite burning the clothes, the feeling had remained. She wasn’t sure if she ever would ever be clean again, and she knew that the stains from that evening would forever be inked into her heart. The images of Rose lying in that dirty alley haunted her mind and swam before her vision every time she closed her eyes. It was what had woken her each night since she killed Rose with the killing curse.

It was always the eyes. 

The light blue eyes – clear like a morning’s sky – which shook her awake and left her panting for air. There was no hatred in the eyes, no anger, no despair, no nothing. They were empty and dead. Small crinkles lingered near the corners from when the woman had smiled, but they looked unnatural and didn’t match the emptiness that radiated from the dark pupils. It wasn’t horror that startled her awake either, and it wasn’t even anger; it was an unparalleled sense of despair and sadness that surged through Hermione and rattled her mind.

She wasn’t in turmoil over her decision to kill Rose and grant her final wish of death; instead, she was haunted by the unrelenting anguish she felt over why it had happened in the first place. It was the terror of their entire situation that ate away at her. It was all the unanswered questions – how many others had suffered before this? How many others had bled out and died alone and confused? That was what haunted her through those eyes. Then, there was the thought that sparked within her mind each time she stared into the darkness – the one that made her stomach knot with sickness.

How many more until we can stop it?

Her only hope was that with time it would fade. That maybe, if they won the war, she would be able to sleep peacefully again. While she would never know how many lives were truly lost because of one man’s prejudice, at least she knew that it would stop eventually. The rest would be saved, and the heinous experiments would stop. She would be sure of it if it was the last thing she did, and she would never forget Rose’s memory.

She knew that it was affecting Harry as well. It wasn’t just about who cast the final spell or who said the words in situations like this. He was there. He had held Rose’s hand. He had gazed into her eyes and tried to keep her calm while she was dying. Hermione could see the way it bothered him, how his shoulders tensed, how he tossed in his sleep, or how a distinct little line of worry would appear across his brow while he was deep in thought. They were both carrying the baggage of that night, and she didn’t know if it would ever become less heavy. It added to the intensity of their already paranoid behaviours, and she was seriously beginning to wonder how, if at all, they would ever acclimate back into ‘normal’ society.

She slept in Harry’s bunk every night. She had been doing so since December after she nearly died in the pond retrieving the sword. They didn’t bother expanding the bed, because they didn’t want more space. They both felt safer in the small bunk squished up next to each other closely for warmth. Harry always slept with his back against the tent wall, Hermione on her side curled into him and facing the tent door. Her wand was always next to her pillow, less than an arm’s length away in case they needed to grab it. Her purse was on the nightstand by her head, ready for use, the tent was guarded by a dozen different detection spells and booby traps, and they both had started to sleep with a charm cast that amplified any sound other than normal ambient noises throughout the tent so they would be woken up if someone actually did manage to get by their wards.

On top of that, they always set up the tent with the back wedged against a cliff, or boulder, or some other solid rock foundation so that their bunk was safe against the impenetrable surface. Neither one of them fancied an ambush, and if it did happen, they sure as hell were not going to be backstabbed through a tent while they slept. At this point, the idea of sleeping in a house without an easy escape route, or staying with other people, or staying in one location for more than a few days at a time gave Hermione crippling anxiety – so she had stopped thinking about it entirely. 

Their situation wasn’t good.

Logically she knew that their behaviours had become extreme, and yet that didn’t seem to matter anymore because she couldn’t imagine doing anything differently. So, she would just need to deal with that when they came to it. It was a problem for later. For now, laying in the bunk next to Harry and traversing around inside the tent was the only place she truly felt safe. And she was okay with that.

She sighed into Harry’s chest as she closed her eyes and nuzzled her nose into his warm skin. The scar from the locket was still there. It had healed, but like the scar that ran down his left arm and the ones that traced across her chest, it would never go away. Dark magic had tainted them both, and she speculated that they would face much more over the course of the war. In fact, it was possible that both of them would come out looking like Alastor Moody by the end of it. She supposed that wouldn’t be the worst thing. At least they would be alive, which would be a greater success than what she had already braced herself for.

The wind tore across the tent again, shaking it violently but calming her nerves as she pressed further into Harry. The more the weather worsened, the better she felt and the easier she could breathe. They were camped so far North that they were in complete whiteout conditions. No night watch was necessary, and she knew that they would be safe while the antivenom potion simmered for the rest of the day before she could bottle and store it. The air was so frigid outside that warming charms were insufficient to get by for longer than half an hour, which meant that no one would be able to make it through their wards or get anywhere close to the tent.

She highly doubted that anyone was out in this area anyway, and if they were, they would probably die from exposure or be forced to apparate away before they became a threat. She breathed out a final breath and used her meditation to calm her nerves. She would try to get one more hour of sleep before pulling herself from the bunk and resumed their work.

-x-x-

The remainder of the week passed by in a blur. 

Harry researched Horcruxes and tinkered with a few new spells he had learned from Hermione’s books while she focused her attention on the golden werewolf bands, determined to get as much information to Arthur as possible. Most of the spells he had found were defensive, though several of them were rather nasty attacks – including one which essentially froze an opponent similar to how liquid nitrogen would. If cast successfully, one could tap their opponent with a hammer, and they would shatter into a thousand pieces. Hermione had said she’d never seen anything like it, and Harry thought it would be another good skill to master and add to their arsenal.

When they weren’t researching, they were brewing any final potions that they could. They repacked their supplies, organized their medical kits, practiced spells and healing, and duelled in the cleared out main tent area using the ring format they had developed months ago. The events of the alley had acted as a catalyst to their already burning motivation. Both of them moved and worked as if chased by Fiendfyre – completely immersed in their work and unyielding in their dedication. 

They kept in touch with Arthur throughout the week and learned that everything had been successfully covered up at the Ministry. The werewolf corpse was burned as part of the mandated disposal process before anyone could identify it as being non-magical, and You Know Who’s men seemed to dismiss interest in the case rather quickly as they had more important things to attend to. While Arthur kept the details brief, as he also needed to protect his own information and actions, he did inform them that the Order’s new Legilimens was able to get images of the werewolf den from Evan’s mind. They had pulled several more useful memories for further examination and then wiped the man’s brain back to where Hermione had left it before they let him go. Both Hermione and Harry suspected that Evan was already dead, and based on the quiet from the Death Eaters and the additional muggle disappearance reported Wednesday in Birmingham, it seemed that the werewolf project was still underway. 

Arlo and You Know Who were completely unaware that the Order now knew about their operation, which was exactly what they had wanted.

Arthur didn’t tell them any details of their developing plans to disassemble the werewolf den, but he assured Hermione and Harry that they were working on it and that he would keep them posted and tell them what information he could. Unfortunately, it was not so simple as storming the base once they had Evan’s memories. Resources were scarce, and reliable Order member lives were valuable. Recon was required, information needed to be gathered, a plan fully assembled, and volunteers selected before any sort of mission would be underway. So, while they waited for new updates on the progress from Arthur, they kept busy, and on Thursday, Hermione finally made a breakthrough.

“Harry!” Hermione called loudly, disrupting Harry from his practice of neatly slicing a solid block of ice into several different pieces with wordless and wandless magic. “Harry! – I’ve figured it out. It’s bonding blood magic! It’s in the bracelet – and it is based on Tolipkins’s research!”

Harry had just finished his fourth cut and was about to get up from the table to come join her on the tent floor when she all but apparated over to him in excitement. She vanished his neat little ice blocks from the table with a flick of her finger and cast a drying spell before she dumped a pile of paper onto the smooth surface. She almost clambered over the top of it to point to a book that she had marked and highlighted. One of the golden bands was now very thinly sliced into different sizes and wrapped in a cloth, so she didn’t have to touch it, and she placed it gently to the side before she continued speaking at a fast pace.

“Harry, it’s blood magic,” Hermione said excitedly. “Blood bonding magic, not soul bonding – but they added a stasis charm! I never would have figured it out without examining the corpse and taking a sample. It’s a combination multipart spell modified from several different pieces of old research, but the entire thing is unbalanced! That’s why it doesn’t always work and why the werewolves die after a few months! The stasis charm was never intended to be used on humans. This Arlo guy, he’s pulled it from research done in the early 1900’s by a witch who was trying to keep plants from changing forms. She was a herbologist. She tested the charm on Mandrakes with great success but not on people – it’s not designed for that!”

Harry’s eyes darted over the page that Hermione was pointing to. It was an article detailing the work done by a lady named Cecile – she had created the spell in an effort to save her crops and plants after an economic downturn. Home potion brewing had started to decrease in popularity, and then the economy went south. Wizards struggling to find work did not have the money to purchase the required ingredients to make their own common household potions, so they went without as they could not afford to buy them anymore. 

Cecile was having trouble selling her stock and balancing her plants with the market demand. She had lost a significant amount of money when her Mandrakes and other plants could not be sold and had to be disposed of after they passed their prime usage age. She used the spell to preserve the plants in their current state for up to three years at a time, and it helped her manage her potion ingredients – but she had never formally published or documented the spell, keeping it for only her own use. The book Hermione had was an obscure old work that contained copies of articles from a now non-existent wizarding journal magazine called World Magizene. The article was an interview with Cecile, and it even included a sketch of the woman next to her personal garden.

“This Arlo man, he must have found this article and then somehow figured out what the spell was. Maybe he questioned the family or found her research notes,” Harry said as his eyes finished scanning the article and looked back up to Hermione, who was nodding. “Or – maybe she wasn’t the first or the last herbologist to create this spell. Surely others have had the same problem and then dabbled in creating a solution. There may be greenhouses out there right now that use similar spells.”

“Exactly!” Hermione agreed. “But he either never bothered or wasn’t able to adjust the spell so that it worked on humans properly. Magical properties and spell creation are not so different from muggle chemistry – except that the properties are much more complicated to manage and resolve because they often change or don’t follow any particular rules. But this equation on humans never balanced; it was self-decaying. With the spell Cecile created, the stasis charm worked because it allowed the cells of the plants to regenerate over and over from exactly the state they were in when the spell was cast – it never allowed them to age or change. It puts the plant in a loop, forever stuck at that point in time until the spell was removed.” 

Hermione took a breath and shook her head in disbelief. Harry could see her mind reeling. It was moving faster than she could manage to get the words out. 

“My guess is, after he infects the muggles with Lycanthropy, he waits until the first full moon and then casts the stasis, locking them in werewolf state,” Hermione said. “But they’re dying, and it’s because their cells aren’t replicating properly. Some replicate too much while others renew too little. So from the second that he casts the charm, they have a limited time to live because of the damage it causes. Even if there was a way to remove the stasis charm, they would likely still die.”

“So, it’s almost like having cancer and senescence happen at the same time, but he can’t be bothered to fix it because it works just long enough for their purposes. It’s not worth his time to fix it. They just get more muggles,” Harry said thoughtfully, and he saw Hermione smile proudly at him.

“I didn’t know that you knew what senescence meant,” Hermione said, sifting through the papers on the table before them.

“I listen,” Harry said, glancing over at her. “And read.” 

He smiled and shook his head. While the news wasn’t happy – she had once again blown him away. He knew that she had been busy, but somehow seeing her research was still always astounding. Her attention to detail and ability to sift through huge quantities of data was unmatched, and frankly, magical. He saw scribbles of her working out potential spells and her arithmancy calculations to determine how the stasis charm might work. It was starting to feel like things were falling into place.

“Or, he can’t fix it,” Harry muttered when he came across a particularly difficult arithmancy calculation she had completed. “Human biology is much more complex than plants. I’m not sure it’s possible to create a stasis charm that would work on a person like that.”

“I’ve never heard of one before,” Hermione agreed as she slipped into the seat across the table from him and pulled out some more papers. “The closest thing I’ve come across is petrification – but that’s not the same thing as a stasis charm which keeps the charmed item alive and exactly as it was in one form without damaging it. It’s an incredible feat. No wonder why herbologists would keep it secret if they managed to figure it out. It would give them a huge advantage.”

“So how did he tie that in with a blood bond?” Harry asked after he noticed that her stasis paperwork didn’t seem to have any mention of the actual bonding.

“That’s where the bracelet comes in,” Hermione said, pointing to the golden pieces but not touching them. “They’re gold-plated silver, and it’s where the blood bond is permanently held. Think unbreakable vow but designed to be breakable because you can physically remove the bond. Blood from the collector is embedded into the band that’s placed on the werewolf, and blood from the werewolf is embedded into the band worn by the collector. Then, Arlo bonds them with the servitude bonding magic that Tolipkins experimented with. The bond only works if they’re both wearing the golden bracelet.”

Harry watched as Hermione slid a long scroll of parchment towards him. It was covered in her writing and notes, the scribbles jammed in all over the page documenting the countless iterations she had run while completing her calculations and examining the details of the golden band. After she had a second set of golden bands, she was less concerned about destroying their only sample and was able to run several more tests, including ones destructive in nature. At the bottom, he saw the starred text and immediately understood why she was showing it to him.

“There are three distinct blood samples,” he said as he picked up the page, eyes wide in surprise of her findings.

“Exactly – I wouldn’t have been able to figure it out without the second set. The werewolf is bound to the collector in a complete servitude bond, so it only has the blood of the collector in its band. The collector has the blood from the werewolf and the blood from someone else. This third blood sample was consistent across the two sets, so I’m assuming it must be Arlo’s,” she said as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “What it does is, it bonds the collector to be loyal to the intent of the overall servitude bond. Basically, it forces the wearer to follow the direction as set out by Arlo at the time of banding. It creates what I’ve decided to dub the intent bond, and that intent is actually reflected back to the werewolf through the collector. It’s probably why it didn’t work on Evan – or some other snatchers – because they weren’t truly willing to serve the overall master plan. They’re not true loyal supporters of You Know Who – they’re just people trying to save their own ass.”

“You had said Tolipkins’s banding magic was unbalanced,” Harry said slowly as he flipped the page over to examine her work, trying to find where the unbalance was shown in her calculations. “So, the werewolves are just being blasted by both sides – death by stasis and death by a servitude bond? It’s no wonder they don’t last longer than a few months tops.”

“Well,” Hermione said quietly, her shoulders slumping before she continued. “From what I could tell, and from the calculations that I ran off what I could pull from the golden bands – it seems like he was actually able to balance the bond that Tolipkins created. It was the addition of the intent bond being reflected back to the werewolf that solved it. The problem with the original servitude bond is that it was inherently unbalanced. There was nothing being given by the collector in the equation, and the person bound to servitude can never truly fulfill the bond – because permanent servitude is an impossible feat. Tolipkins hadn’t considered that because he was only interested in having a servant, he didn’t want to contribute anything, and he didn’t care if his subjects died. The werewolves are only dying from the stasis spell, Harry, which is terrifying. Imperius is bad enough – they don’t need a second method to place people under servitude. Especially not one that works indefinitely.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Harry groaned as he dropped his head into his hand and took a deep breath. This was about as bad as it could possibly be.

“I wish I was,” Hermione grimaced as she spoke. “But that’s not even the worst part.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Harry groaned as he lifted his head and met her eyes. She looked tired, worn, and disturbed by her findings. The excitement of what she had accomplished was wearing off, and now she was left with the reality of the information – he could see her posture change and her demeanour become more solemn. “What’s the worst part?”

“Arlo added ancient runes,” she said quietly, nodding toward the golden band on the table. “They’re engraved as part of the blood bond – to make it additionally effective. Instead of using his physical blood, Arlo could have added a third rune to balance the original Tolipkins equation. The blood wasn’t actually required to create an intent bond.”

“Which runes?” Harry felt his chest tighten once more as he began to comprehend just how evil the bonding bands could be.

“Ehwaz and Tiwaz,” Hermione said softly as she watched his face.

“Loyalty and authority,” Harry responded, his jaw clenching as he let out a tight breath.

Ancient Runes were difficult. They all had several meanings, and their combinations were complex and challenging to decipher. They depended heavily, if not entirely, on the intent behind them when placed. Hence, why there was an entire field dedicated to studying them and their use. He hadn’t taken the class while at Hogwarts, but he had picked up Hermione’s textbook over the last few months and read through it to get a bare minimum understanding. He was familiar now with the most common runes and their meanings, which was better than nothing, even if he wouldn’t be able to look at a combination and figure out what they did together. 

But with Ehwaz and Tiwaz – it wasn’t difficult to pick out the intended meanings.

“Harry, this is bad,” Hermione said quietly, her eyes now downcast on the band. “If Arlo knows, if You Know Who knows – this could be the start of something terrible.”

“Hermione, he can’t know. He can’t possibly know that he balanced the bonding charm. The werewolves are dying; he probably hasn’t tried it on anyone without that stasis charm,” Harry said, shaking his head in denial. There was no way Arlo knew, or they would have progressed into even more disturbing territory by now. “We would see those bands popping up everywhere if he knew.”

“I agree – but Harry, it’s only a matter of time until he figures it out. Or until someone else does. Then what?”

“Then we deal with it like how we have been dealing with everything else – but we try to stop it before it gets to that point. We need to let Arthur know, but only Arthur. The last thing we need is for other people to get their hands on this information and think that they can repurpose it for the ‘greater good’ or Merlin knows what else.”

“His work needs to be destroyed, Harry – before someone else finds it,” Hermione said, nodding in agreement to his words as she restacked her papers. “We need to tell Arthur to burn that entire facility to the ground. Now that I’ve seen the solved arithmancy calculations – I can already see how it could be modified in any number of different ways with no issues. I’ve spent only a day with the results, and I already know you could use it to track people. You could even use it as a health monitor. Someone else can easily figure this out.”

“Maybe not easily,” Harry gave her a small smile. “But, we’ll write Arthur today and let him know immediately. Did you figure out how he is successfully infecting them? Most muggles reject Lycanthropy and die.”

“That’s the only part of this I don’t know,” Hermione said with a sigh as she rubbed her temple. “It’s unrelated to the banding. He could be injecting them with small amounts, maybe healing them as they transform? Typically, Lycanthropy is passed through bites which are traumatic – it’s possible that muggles are better able to process the infection when their body isn’t under stress from trying to heal dark magic.”

“Yeah, not to mention we have no idea how many muggles he infected until he was successful and got the process down pat,” Harry murmured angrily under his breath.

That was the absolute worst part of all of this and the thing that made Harry’s skin crawl. How many lives had Arlo spent in the pursuit of his experimentation? How many more would be lost until they and Arthur were able to dismantle the den and the operation?

It killed him that they couldn’t just go and destroy the den now. He hated that he knew he had to wait. They had to be clever and cunning, and remain careful and cautious. This war wasn’t on the battlefield yet, and if they wanted to avoid even more loss of life, they would try to keep it that way while they continued to fight in the shadows for as long as possible. They needed to save whatever lives they could until they were ready to strike so that when they finally did make their move, it would annihilate the operation in its entirety.

“I’ll get the journal,” Hermione said slowly as she removed all her documentation from the table and brought it over to her work area.

“It’s okay. Put your notes back – I’ll grab it.” Harry pushed himself from the table and made his way over to the potion lab to grab the journal that Hermione had left in there.

He knew that she was particular about her notes and would want to take a moment to store everything properly. He wished that she didn’t have to use her talent to research such a disgusting experiment. He wished that she was back in school in her seventh year, enjoying her studies, taking far too many classes, and loving every second of it while she stressed and fussed about exams and essays. He would have joined her in the library. They could have studied together. They could have sat together in the common room while they ate the food that Dobby snuck them from the kitchen. He would have asked her to go to Hogsmeade with him. He would have bought her the most unique and fascinating book for Christmas after spending hours searching for the perfect one in Diagon Alley.

He grabbed the journal from the potion lab table and turned to see her bent over her notes. Carefully rolling the papers and folding her calculations before storing them in the tiny desk she had created by transfiguring a spare chair in the main room. The thought pained him, and he made a mental promise to ensure that Hermione got her final year after the war was over. If she wanted to, he would return to Hogwarts with her. He would arrange a way for them to go – he’d talk to McGonagall and sort it all out.

He sighed soundlessly and made his way over toward her, watching the way she shuffled the papers in hand and the way her shirt rode up her back as she bent over. It was a waste of time to dwell on their current situation and what could have been. Wishing that they were back to their warm, comfortable days at Hogwarts before shit hit the fan wouldn’t get them anywhere – no matter how badly he wished it were true.

But he could safeguard her future.

He could ensure that she had her chance to finish her studies and graduate with nothing but O’s on her NEWTs. One way or another, he would make sure that she got to finish her schooling. She didn’t need it. She had far surpassed anything that would be taught at Hogwarts, but he knew that she would want to. 

It struck him as he approached her that they may never have ended up together had this war not happened. Had Ron not left, had the Horcruxes been easier to find, had things been less difficult than they were – they may have remained just friends. He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her small waist, pulling her back into his chest and nuzzling his nose into her neck. He could feel her relax in his arms as she leaned back into his warmth and tilting her head to the side for him.

Despite everything that had happened, regardless of every terrible situation and devastating discovery they had endured thus far – he was happy with the way things were, because he had her, and he knew they could make things right.

Along with all future Snape POV chapters, this chapter is dedicated to FluffyPandaShip.

-x-x-

September 1997

Hogwarts

“SEVERUS!!”

Phineas practically screamed his name as he entered the Headmaster’s Office. It was late, very late. He had just gotten back from another dreadful night at the Manor and was hoping to slip by the sleeping portraits to his quarters unnoticed so he could pass out on his bed. Apparently, Phineas had other plans, as he appeared positively frantic – yelling and waving his arms to get Snape’s attention.

“What?” Snape asked, his voice not as sharp as he wanted it to be. 

There had been too many nights with no sleep, and now he sounded like he was going soft. He would have to watch himself in front of the students, perhaps break out his secret stash of specially brewed pepperup potion that didn’t make steam pour out of your ears. It was perfect for hiding illnesses and could be used as a quick pick-me-up to get through the day. Brewing it was challenging and expensive, though, so he only used it when it was absolutely necessary.

“Hermione has been injured!” Phineas yelled, the fear evident in his voice. He was standing halfway into his portrait, the left half of his face disappearing into the edge of the frame as he bridged the space between this one and the one Granger and Potter kept with them. He was clearly listening to whatever was going on on their side while he spoke.

Well, that’s a first, Snape thought as he quickened his pace toward the desk. 

Not only was Phineas typically indifferent about Granger, but he was also a bit hostile toward the muggleborn witch on occasion. And he had never called her by her given name. Phineas also, along with all other portraits, would not go to such lengths to be in two places at once. Porting between portraits required effort, and most paintings could not be bothered with it. They simply wanted to observe the world around them and provide their irritating and unnecessary commentary. Yet here Phineas was, forcing himself between two frames in alarm while he screamed about Granger.

“What do you mean Granger has been injured?” Snape asked, the sharpness returning to his tone as he stood before Phineas and raised a brow. This better not be some ridiculous potion brewing accident. He had always suspected that Granger brewed potions beyond her capability ever since his supplies were ransacked during their second year, and she mysteriously disappeared from class for a month. “What happened?”

Snape had tinkered with some charms over the last week, working to find a way so that Phineas would be able to listen in on Potter and Granger while he was inside the purse where they kept him. He had been hoping that it might give them a better idea of their location so that he could deliver the sword of Gryffindor – otherwise, Dumbledore’s plan was going to crumble before it even got started. He had done something similar in the past, so he did not anticipate it to be an issue, but Granger was clever – apparently cleverer than he had anticipated, and she had sealed her purse well. It had taken him the entire week to figure out how to implement the charm, and even then, it only worked when the purse was left opened, and they were close enough for Phineas to hear them. It was like trying to listen through a closed doorway half the time – but the door was eight inches of solid lead.

Phineas had told him that her purse was ‘huge’ and a ‘fascinating’ place to be stored even though he disliked it. He even proclaimed that one time, when they jammed him back into the bag in a hurry, the cover that she kept over him had slipped up a few inches, and he was able to peer around. He asserted that he’d seen ‘mountains of books’ and ‘endless containers’ within its depths. 

At the time, Severus had found this difficult to believe and scoffed at the portrait. Phineas was clearly looking for attention and trying to make his task of sitting in the dark waiting for information seem more interesting than it was. If Granger’s purse was as he claimed, then it would have required her to use a complex mobile undetectable extension charm that could be carried through space without the contents inside shifting. He’d only known two other people who had accomplished such a thing to the size that Phineas described – and both of them were dead.

However, much to his annoyance, as his attempts to charm the portrait failed time and time again this past week, he began to wonder if Phineas may not have been exaggerating. Perhaps one day, he would be able to examine the purse and see for himself, satisfy his curiosity as it were, but for now, they were set-up the best that they could be – short of Phineas trying to convince the pair that he was supporting Dumbledore and was on their side. Snape scoffed at the thought, that would be a wasted effort. Phineas’s hostility toward Granger at the start had lowered his credibility and made the trio question his loyalty. They would never believe anything that he said to them at this point.

The whole situation gave Snape a headache. It would have been much simpler if Dumbledore had just told Potter that Phineas was an ally, but there was no reasoning with that old man. He was determined to stick to his plan and refused to consult anyone on the details or adjust it as conditions changed.

“I’m not sure – Potter is tending to her now. She – she’s trying to help him,” Phineas replied, his eyes glancing back toward the frame as he focused on the noises that only he could hear. His agitation unsettled Snape. He was shaking in his frame, and his eyes were creased with worry. 

Snape had never seen the man look so utterly distraught.

“How serious is it?” Snape said, his tone dropping as he stepped forward toward the frame.

“I can’t tell – Potter is cursing. Hermione is – well, she is making the most god-awful sounds, Severus – oh my word! It was a werewolf! Severus, they had to have been attacked by a werewolf!” Phineas’ eyes were wide, and Snape saw him brace himself on the inside of the portrait frame. “She asked for silver and dittany – there’s no other explanation!”

“Where are they?” Snape snapped, his tone deadly serious now. A werewolf attack was not trivial. It was not something that Potter or Granger would know how to treat – they would need assistance. Bite victims were almost exclusively brought to St. Mungo’s for healing, but that place was out of the question. Potter may as well turn himself directly over to the Dark Lord if he planned to go there.

“Severus, you cannot go to them. They cannot see you,” Dumbledore urged from his frame. He already knew what Snape was thinking and was shaking his head in rejection. “They must not know your allegiance–”

“So Granger bleeding to death is a better option?!” Snape threw back at Dumbledore, his temper flaring now. This man was so willing to sacrifice others for his plans, and yet often, people didn’t even know that they were a part of them to begin with. Brilliant and kind as he had become, Dumbledore was a manipulator at heart who glorified his own intentions by claiming that he knew a person was capable of accomplishing what he had set out all along – that he only wanted what was best. It was all too easy for him to ignore any collateral damage along the way. “I’ll obliviate them after if I have to – Phineas, where are they!?”

“I – there’s no way to tell. I hear – I hear water, waves! Waves! They’re near the shore!” Phineas said desperately as he craned his neck to hear better.

“We live on an island – how is that helpful?” Snape spat as he paced in front of the portraits. Losing the idiot Weasley boy had not been a true loss; he did not contribute much to the trio – but if Potter lost Granger, he would surely be doomed to fail. Any dunderhead could see that she was the brains of the operation and acted as the sane and logical glue that held the group together. “Have they said anything else? What are they doing – what is Potter doing to treat her?”

“Dittany and silver – she told him to mix in silver with the dittany after he cleaned her wounds. He – he’s trying to give her blood replenisher now, Merlin, that girl – she’s still giving him directions, but she can barely speak.”

“How much blood replenisher?”

“Two bottles.”

“Two bottles?! Fucking Merlin – if Granger used standard-sized bottles for her storage–” Snape ran a hand through his hair and dropped it angrily at his side, not bothering to finish his sentence. Phineas and Dumbledore both knew how significant requiring two bottles of blood replenisher was. Most wizards would have passed out or died from that much blood loss. “Do you know if the wounds closed? Has Potter said anything about the wounds? If they don’t close, she’ll bleed out no matter how much replenisher he pours down her throat.”

“Severus, calm down. They will be fine–” Dumbledore tried to cut in, but Snape and the other portrait ignored him.

“He hasn’t said anything – I just hear waves and rustling and – and Hermione’s moaning. Wait – wait – he’s giving her calming draught, and then he said he’ll set up the tent. I – I think she might be okay. He said he would help her get cleaned up.”

Snape let out a breath and sat back on the edge of his desk. This was definitely not how he thought his night was going to go, 0 to 60 miles an hour, as the muggles would say. He wasn’t even a father – how the hell did he manage to get stuck watching the three most troublesome kids in the entire school outside of the Weasley twins. It was like Potter was a magnet for death, destruction, and problems. Why Granger was friends with him, he would never understand.

“Keep an eye on them, Phineas. Let me know if anything changes – and let me know exactly what Potter says – and any remarks he makes on Granger’s health. If she was infected, they will need wolfsbane potion so she doesn’t kill him on the next full moon. If you find out where they are – tell me.”

“Understood,” Phineas said before he slipped out of the frame, moving entirely into the one stored in Granger’s purse.

“See,” Dumbledore said calmly. “They can do this on their own, Severus. You need to have more faith in their capabilities.”

Snape’s shoulders tensed, and his upper body went rigid as he slowly raised his eyes to stare at Dumbledore’s portrait. The old man was looking pleased with himself, completely calm as if unfazed by the last few minutes of intense exchanges. He hated the knowing expression that he always wore – as if he somehow knew something that everyone else didn’t. It made Snape’s blood boil with irritation. It was so irresponsible, so illogical, and so fucking narcissistic to never question your own knowledge.

“There’s nothing wrong with having a contingency plan, Albus,” he said slowly, glaring at the man as he crossed his arms over his chest tightly. “It’s not about faith – it’s about being realistic. They’re still kids in case you’ve forgotten, kids who have never received medical training or basic survival skills. I’ve long since petitioned to have a basic medical course taught as a mandatory weekend event, but no one else seemed to think it was necessary. I’m happy to give credit where credit is due, but Potter gets by with a lot of help from Granger and a fuck ton of luck. You cannot expect people to perform when they are underprepared and have huge holes in their knowledge base. It’s irresponsible, and it’s how people die.”

“Phineas just said Harry managed to close Hermione’s wounds,” Dumbledore dismissed the comment and stared down his long nose at Snape.

“No – he’s only confirmed that Granger isn’t dead yet,” Snape sneered. He could feel the final threads of his patience break. “I understand you have your reasons, Albus. You always have, and I respect your intelligence enough to know that you do actually have a master plan – but you have got to start being more realistic! You’ve withheld information from Potter for years, and now you’ve sent him off on a secret mission vulnerable and unprepared. It’s great that you think so highly of his capabilities, but he is still only human. Forgive me for having a vested interest in ending this war – instead of just wanting to join Potter’s fan club blindly so I can watch him in awe while hoping to see him do something spectacular!”

“Harry is not James, Severus,” Dumbledore said wisely, ignoring the scorn that dripped from Snape’s mouth as the corner of his eyes crinkled. “He is capable of more than you give him credit for. You need to stop projecting your hatred and low opinions on the boy, hasn’t it been long enough?”

Snape scowled.

Dumbledore always did this. 

Any time he criticized Potter or remarked on his unremarkable nature as a student, Dumbledore would blame Snape for projecting his hatred of James onto the boy. He would claim that Snape refused to see Potter for who he really was or acknowledge his accomplishments – that he only saw James and was actively trying to discredit the boy any chance he got. He wasn’t wrong, at least not usually, but he was wrong in this case. His assessment of Potter’s skills to survive a war now that the Dark Lord was at full strength was accurate. He knew this because he lived it every fucking day. He knew what Potter would be facing, and he was tired of Dumbledore using his hatred of Potter’s father as a scapegoat for his ridiculous ‘master plan’ schemes.

“Are you saying that you wish me to stand by and let Granger die, or the Weasley boy if something goes wrong? If somehow things don’t go to plan, if somehow you’re wrong and they get stuck, are you asking me to stand aside and just let it happen?”

Snape stared Dumbledore down, watching as the old man’s brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. He’d forced him into a corner, highlighted the crux of his plan. Dumbledore wanted the trio to complete the mission alone as unaided as possible, but he was clearly not willing to sacrifice any of the kids – at least not yet. He wouldn’t admit to it, though, not out loud; that would be admitting a fault in his plan. That would be admitting that there may be a day, somewhere in the not-so-distant future, where he would call on Snape to once again risk his life to save theirs.

He was willing to do it; he just wished Dumbledore would own up to it.

“I thought so,” Snape sneered as he pushed himself off the desk to make his way into his quarters.

There was no need to wait in the office for an update from Phineas. He had charmed a bell in his bedroom to ring when Phineas appeared and had news to share, so he would return when he was needed. At this point in time, there was nothing else he could do except get some sleep, eat some calories, and try to become a functioning human again. He had no idea where they were, so Granger was truly in Potter’s hands now. He hoped, for her sake, that the boy put more effort into aiding her than he did other tasks.

As he reached the door to his private quarters he paused in his tracks and turned back to the portrait. He knew that Dumbledore was angry with him and that the final comment that flittered to the tip of his tongue would only make him angrier – but he would deal with that later. The old man needed to hear the harsh reality of the situation.

“If that boy doesn’t learn that he needs to take this seriously and start training, they’re both going to die.”

-x-x-

October 1997

Hogwarts

Snape quickly ducked, the top of his head narrowly missed by the violent firecracker that circled the hallway and continued to explode, sending sparks in every direction while bright colours danced across the walls. It was, undoubtably, a Weasley twin creation. Though how the hell it had been brought into the castle undetected and set off in the hallway just outside the Carrows’s classroom was yet to be determined. His first suspect was that blasted redheaded Weasley girl, his second was the dunderhead Longbottom, and his third was Bones – the unsuspecting, innocent in appearance Hufflepuff, who seemed to have formed a close bond with the Gryffindor rebels.

“Fuck!” He ducked again, thankful that the hallway was closed and warded so the students wouldn’t be able to see him struggle.

He had tried several counter-spells to disarm the blasted firework already to no avail. It was now burning holes in the walls and creating green smoke that smelled a lot like burnt hair. Though, his biggest issue was that he could hardly step out from the small alcove that he was currently squished into to get a decent shot at the bloody thing. There were plenty of options involving dark magic that would have ended this in an instant – but that would only result in endless lectures from Dumbledore about casting something evil on Hogwarts grounds. He rolled his eyes at the thought, yet he was smart enough to know dark magic on school grounds could damage the castle or leave lingering effects – and Hogwarts was already drenched in centuries of magic. So, begrudgingly, he was stuck battling the firecracker with only clean magic.

Wordlessly he cast another immobulus around the corner of his hiding spot, hitting the firecracker directly in its center. It dropped to the ground with a heavy thud – but Snape knew better than to think the battle was over. He had already hit it three times, and each time, the thing would roar back to life with a vengeance after fifteen seconds and continue sputtering around the hall. This time, however, he was prepared.

Hit me once with your sparks – shame on you, Snape thought as he ignored the aching burn on his shoulder, quickly shrinking the firework down to the size of a bowtruckle before casting a protective barrier between himself and the cursed creation. Hit me twice – well, fuck – shame on me then. It won’t happen again!

Pulling a bottle charmed to be unbreakable out from his pocket, he cast a second immobulus on the device before he used his wand to stuff the firecracker inside the bottle, sealing the jar tightly. He had briefly considered letting the firecracker outside simply because he did not want to deal with it, but that would only result in more damage to the school and injured students. 

He stared at the jar in his hand, counting the seconds as the thick green smoke around him finally started to settle low to the ground. His grip tightened, and sure enough, when he reached fifteen seconds, the miniature firecracker roared back to life and began bouncing around inside the bottle, rapidly filling the space with brightly coloured sparks and green smoke.

No matter, he thought as he let the tight breath in his chest out. It can explode all it wants in there – it’ll burn out eventually.

Pocketing the bottle with his left hand, he ignored the pain from the burn on his shoulder and flicked his wand with his right hand. The singe marks around the hallway disappeared, and the green smoke vanished. It took him several more minutes to put the armour suits back in order before he finally removed the wards and left the hallway. He didn’t bother removing the stink of burnt hair. He left it lingering for the Carrows – they could sit in the stench until it naturally aired out. 

Using a glamour, he covered up the injury on his left shoulder. The students absolutely could not know that any of their attempts to help had been successful, and he did not have time to properly heal it. He needed to get to the Great Hall before dinner ended. He needed to once again try to cast fear into the hearts of these suicidal students before one of the Carrows granted their wish and killed them on spot.

He arrived there quickly, fixing his face with a stern scowl before he laid his hands on the large doors. Yet when he burst through the entrance to the Great Hall, his cloak swirling dramatically behind him as the room fell silent and students hurried to look down at their plates, he caught the eye of the triumphant redhead and her friends. She glared at him boldly; a smirk etched on her face as Longbottom winked – WINKED. Of all the displays of rebellion he had seen thus far, that was a first, and as he made his way to the head table, he began to seriously doubt his ability to keep them alive.

-x-x-

November 1997

Hogwarts

“Any news, Phineas?” Snape asked, entering his office and making for his desk. He had a long night of brewing ahead of him for the Dark Lord, but as always, if Potter and Granger’s location was known, he would make delivering the sword a priority.

“Unfortunately not, Severus. They’re still being incredibly careful not to say anything about their locations – though it seems that they did spend the day training.”

“Again?” Snape looked up from his desk; his brow arched curiously. Potter and Granger had allegedly started to train sometime in October – he had no idea what it entailed and, frankly, he had suspected that it would become something of an unkept New Year’s resolution that dwindled off after only a few short days. “I thought you said they trained yesterday?”

“They did,” Phineas said with a smile. “It seems that Hermione and Potter train most days.”

“Hn.” Snape flicked his eyes down to his paperwork once more. 

He would never get everything done, what with the demands from the Dark Lord – this job was bullshit. He sighed and looked over to Dumbledore, who seemed to have a wary expression.

“Have they mentioned the Weasley boy?” Dumbledore asked Phineas.

“No – in fact, I would say that they never mention him,” Phineas replied with a sniff, turning his nose up. He was never shy to make his opinion of someone known, and it was obvious that he did not think highly of the redheaded dunderhead. Though, his opinion on the matter wasn’t shocking.

What was curious was how Phineas had nonchalantly started addressing Granger only by her given name since her injury. Snape had assumed that he made the slip in the heat of the moment while he was riddled with panic and concern. Yet each day since he continued to address her on a first name basis, and Snape started to suspect that the wizard may have even grown fond of the witch over the last few weeks.

“I see,” Dumbledore said with concern. He pushed his glasses up his nose and sighed deeply. “I had expected the boy to return by now – but for him to return, Harry and Hermione must be – in a way – hopeful of his return for it to work.”

“And this,” Snape muttered under his breath as he turned a page over. “Is exactly why it’s a good idea to have contingency plans in case conditions change.”

He did not miss the scowl that Dumbledore gave him from the corner of his eye.

-x-x-

December 1997

Hogwarts

“Severus, what do you know about the werewolves and their involvement with You Know Who?”

Snape sighed; it was like he could feel the question rattle down his weary spine as he closed the door to the Headmaster’s Office behind him and warded it. He was tired, hungry, sleep-deprived, and drenched in cold water from the latest gift that the students had left outside his office. 

Where to even start with that question? He thought as he stripped off his soaking frock coat and dropped it on the hook near the fire. Of course, the water was charmed so that it could not be vanished away, and no drying charm would work – he had already tried two before he even opened the door to his office. A part of him was starting to wonder if the other professors might be assisting the band of Gryffindor rebels by teaching them advanced magic on the side.

“What happened?” He ground out, making his way over to the portrait and stopping to grab a headache curing potion from the small left-hand drawer of his desk. The dull thudding at the back of his head would become nauseating if he did not act quickly.

“Hermione and Potter were attacked again and–”

“Again!?” Snape practically choked on the potion as he blurted out the words while trying to swallow. It was a bad combination, and it left him coughing and hacking while Dumbledore muttered for him to breathe and relax. “What the fuck happened this time?”

“They’re okay! Sorry – I should have led with that,” Phineas shrugged sheepishly in his frame.

“You think?” Snape muttered as he collapsed into his chair and flicked his finger to increase the flames of the fire. A shiver was running down his spine, but he refused to allow his body to tremble. He could only imagine the luck the duo had happened upon to escape a second werewolf attack largely unscathed. It was miracle enough that Granger had avoided becoming one in September.

“My apologies, Severus – anyways, they were attacked, though it seems that Potter received only minor injuries. But it raises the question – what in Merlin’s beard is going on? Hermione and Potter are not the only ones running into the creatures. Why Tilda mentioned to us just yesterday that there have been attacks in Birmingham ongoing for a while, but no one is doing anything about it.”

Snape flicked his eyes over to the sleeping witch in the portrait across the room from Phineas as he set the now empty potion bottle on his desk. He wasn’t surprised that Tilda had some information on the events ongoing in Birmingham. It was even possible that she had more information than he did, but she’d never share it.

“The werewolves have joined forces with the Dark Lord,” Snape said, leaning back in his chair and refocused his eyes to Phineas. “They joined a while ago – what you’re talking about is probably linked to the ongoing secret project that the Dark Lord assigned to Bellatrix.”

“Oh,” Phineas’s face fell, and Dumbledore sighed disheartenedly next to him.

“As you both clearly know,” Snape continued as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves. “Bellatrix does not trust me – so she has never told me anything about the project. The only information I have is from what I can gather covertly on my own or from what Narcissa can tell me when we have the chance to speak privately at the Manor, which isn’t often. The only thing I do know is that the growing werewolf numbers are linked to the attacks. My guess is, they are collecting people to grow an army, possibly completing the infection in a lab-type environment to allow for a higher success rate. Which just means that Potter and Granger better keep up their training – the world will only grow more dangerous in the months to come.”

“As if the snatchers weren’t bad enough already,” Phineas sighed.

“Severus, we may need to find a way for you to address the werewolf issue,” Dumbledore said gently, and Snape could not help but roll his eyes. “We cannot let it get out of hand, or we will not be able to counter their forces when the time comes.”

“Yes, but we both know that Bellatrix isn’t someone I can work information out of – to get what we need, I’d have to find another way in.” Snape clenched his jaw as Dumbledore nodded at his words. “Right – I’ll just add it to the list of things to do then, right next to delivering the sword, brewing the potions, and saving the damn world.”

“Severus, it cannot be helped. You’re the only one who can gain access to the information unnoticed, and you agreed to this. You gave me your word. Right now, I fear the situation may be even more dire than we anticipate, and if we do not move astutely, we may risk many innocent lives and failure of our cause,” Dumbledore said. He had kept his tone kind, and while Snape knew he meant well, it did not stop the flare of anger that swept through his body. He didn’t want to hear Dumbledore get on his soapbox and preach. The cold from his soaking wet clothes was eating into his body, and he desperately wanted to warm up.

“I’m aware,” he exhaled and closed his eyes briefly before he pushed himself up from his chair. He was done for the night. He wanted to go peel off his layers of clothes and take a warm shower. The draft in the castle was terrible in December, and the heat from the fire wasn’t helping him any.

“Oh, there was something else. I uh, well I thought you might be interested to know,” Phineas’ words were quiet, almost hesitant. As if he had contemplated saying them at all, and they stopped Snape in his tracks on the way to his quarters, making him turn back around to face the portrait.

“What?” The irritation rang out in his voice, but Phineas knew him well enough to know he was also curious. Otherwise, he would not have stopped in his retreat to solitude.

“It appears that Potter taught Hermione your spell.”

“Which spell?” Snape asked. He was only aware of Potter knowing the one, but nothing would surprise him anymore. He could hardly fathom Granger agreeing to learn sectumsempra or that they were capable of using it – so perhaps the little cheat had managed to steal some of his other more useful spells before leaving the school this past June.

“Sectumsempra,” Phineas said slowly, his eyes cautiously watching Snape for any reaction. “It would seem that they both experienced their first kills tonight.”

Snape saw Dumbledore’s eyes go wide from the corner of his gaze. The old man’s mouth had opened briefly before he managed to clench it shut again. It wasn’t something in the realm of possibilities that Dumbledore had considered. He had never even imagined Potter or Granger being capable of doing something like that, and if Snape was being honest, neither had he. He stood still on spot, water dripping from his robes onto the floor and creating a small puddle as he stared at Phineas, completely void of any physical reaction until he cleared his throat once.

“I see,” Snape said quietly. “Continue to keep an eye on them, Phineas. Let me know if they handle it poorly.” 

He turned on his heel and pushed his way through the door to his quarters, locking it securely behind him.

He cut across the floor quickly, undoing the buttons down the front of his shirt and peeling the cold fabric from his skin. It tried to cling to him as he removed it, but he barely noticed it as his body moved on autopilot, and his mind raced. Potter had taught Granger sectumsempra. And not only had he taught it to her theoretically, but she had allegedly learned how to use it effectively, and so had the boy. His brain struggled to accept the information. It profoundly differed from his current understanding of the pair’s abilities. 

It was possible that Phineas was embellishing again.

He paused to remove his boots and peeled off his over-saturated socks. He was no longer aware of the cold that riddled his body as he made his way to the bathroom. Tapping the showerhead with his wand, hot water immediately began to pour out as steam clouded the room, though not before he saw his reflection in the mirror. His marked and scarred body stared back at him briefly before he tore his eyes away from his battered frame and shucked off his pants, stepping into the shower stall as the last corners of the room grew heavy with steam

A weird feeling began creeping through him as he stood under the water.

He had always been of the opinion that Potter needed to step up his game, that he needed to take the war seriously, and that if he didn’t start doing what had to be done, he wouldn’t make it. Yet as the words ‘Potter and Granger killed people’ ran through his head, he found his brain unable to form an image of the scenario and unwilling to accept the new data. It was impossible for him to imagine Potter being capable of such a thing. The boy had the anger, sure, but his skill was always lacking. Whereas Granger had the skill, but not the stone heart required to go through with it.

They were, and would probably always be, just kids in his mind. 

Though he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that children were inherently innocent, the Dark Lord himself was a prime example of how false that notion was. Still, he never imaged the duo taking the step into the ‘grey area’. The area that so many witches and wizards avoided. The one that made people uncomfortable and scared, the one that made them question their morality. Everyone always assumed that killing another human or an intelligent being was pure evil and that only a monster could do it, but they were wrong. 

It was so much more complicated than that.

He inhaled deeply and let the warmth seep into his bones. Clearly, this war was going to be one that contained many surprises.

-x-x-

December 1997

Hogwarts

Severus woke to the gentle ring of the bell that sat next to his bed. He had only been asleep for a few hours. Tonight, being Christmas Eve, had been a rare evening with no calls from the Dark Lord and no traps lingering outside his quarters – since the majority of the students had returned home for the holidays. So, after attending the Christmas Eve dinner with his fellow professors and the approximate twenty remaining students, he had quickly retreated to his quarters and slammed the door shut behind him, falling gratefully onto his bed and passing out quicker than a blink.

He had planned to take full advantage of the quiet and rest during the break while restocking his potion stores. He had been using more pepperup and headache cure than he had anticipated at the start of the year; it had become at minimum a weekly requirement just to get by. With the bell ringing loudly now, that the goal had clearly been a pipe dream – Phineas and the duo would see to it that he did not gain a single night of rest during the break. 

Pulling himself from bed somewhat begrudgingly, he moved soundlessly to the door. He summoned his robe from the hook on the wall and pulled it on before he moved into the Headmaster’s Office.

“What is it, Phineas?” He flicked his wand and lit the fireplace, ignoring the groans he got from the portraits, who had been sleeping and now squinted angrily at the source of light.

“They’re on the move!” Phineas said quickly. He was once again straddling the portrait frames and listening to the other side.

“They move constantly,” Snape scowled at him and then pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. “Hence the difficulty in delivering the sword – why is this any different?”

“Because they used Polyjuice potion to disguise themselves before they went – I heard them talk about it, they must be going somewhere more public. I’m sure I’ll find out where in just a moment since they were chatting quite a bit more than usual about their plans tonight. I thought you might want to get ready with the sword.”

“Right,” Snape sighed as he turned back to his quarters. They couldn’t delay things and if the opportunity came. He needed to be ready to deliver the sword. “I’ll go change.”

He was back in less than a minute, dressed warmly in his normal white shirt, black waistcoat, trousers, and charmed dragonhide boots. He had thrown on his frock coat too, for if and when Phineas gave the signal, but for now, he sat at his desk working through mountains of paperwork with the Sword of Gryffindor settled next to him as he waited. Phineas had returned to Potter’s portrait, and Dumbledore was, for once, kind enough to pretend to be asleep while Snape worked and watched the minutes tick by. He was beginning to doubt that the opportunity would present itself tonight when Phineas suddenly appeared in his portrait once more.

“SEVERUS! You Know Who, he almost got them! They went to Godric’s Hollow–”

Snape groaned in pain and grabbed at his forearm tightly. The dark mark was burning into his skin more viciously than the night that the Dark Lord had first returned.

“FUCK!” He yelled as the pain grew to be excruciating. He grabbed the sword and ripped Dumbledore’s portrait back so he could hide it securely. He felt his stomach start to roll as his knees quaked. It felt like a white-hot iron was being shoved into multiple points on his body.

“Severus!” The concern in Dumbledore’s voice was startling. Snape barely managed to swing him back in place and see the fear in his eyes before he apparated away.

He landed hard in the snow outside the Malfoy Manor’s gate, collapsing to his knees momentarily as the pain seeped up into the base of his neck. It took all his concentration to pull himself from the ground and make his way down the drive toward the Manor. He barely registered the crumpled figure that lay on the floor of the Manor before him when he barged through the doors and made for the staircase. It was Lucius. He was crippled over in agony and gripping his arm to his chest as a thin trail of blood dribbled from his mouth. The idiot must have bitten his tongue from the pain of the Dark Lord’s call, and due to his weakened state of health, he was unable to pull himself up from the ground. Snape groaned outwardly and clenched his jaw, grabbing Lucius by the scruff of the neck and hauling him from the ground.

“Get up, you fool – do you want to die and leave your wife and son here alone?” The words were vicious and cruel. Snape spat them against the man’s ear as he half dragged Lucius up the stairs toward the second-floor dining room. Lucius was a coward, a bigot, and a moron – but his wife and son didn’t deserve to be left alone living with the mess he had created because he had made bad choices.

He could hear the voices of a few others as they approached, and he quickly wiped the blood from Lucius’s jaw with the cuff of his sleeve before he pulled them through the door. 

Narcissa was standing next to Draco, gripping her son tightly and holding the wall for support. Bellatrix looked to be enjoying the agony while she glanced around anxiously, waiting for the Dark Lord to appear. Peter, who was crumpled in the corner, was the only other to have arrived since he essentially lived at the Manor, though more would be coming. Snape could already hear Yaxley and Greyback making their way up the stairs behind them. He pushed Lucius over toward his wife and made to stand off to the side as his fellow Death Eaters trickled into the room. Before he could turn back to Lucius, the Dark Lord appeared.

“WHERE WERE DOLOHOV’S MEN!” Voldemort’s scream was wretched, and the flinch around the room was visible. Red eyes circled, looking for the man in question. Dolohov was just coming in through the door and had stumbled against its frame at the force of the Dark Lord’s appearance.

“My Lo–“ Dolohov collapsed to the ground, screams ripping through his throat as Voldemort turned his wand on him to cast a brutal cruciatus. The sound reverberated through Snape’s body, and he saw Draco flinch inward to his mother from the corner of his eye.

Despite the horrible sounds, for a moment, relief washed over the faces around him. They were monsters, all of them, because they were desperately thankful for the Dark Lord’s direct attention on Dolohov. For it meant a brief reprieve from the agony that shot from their arms. The Dark Lord had never been good at controlling his rage, but if he picked a direct target, they would receive the brunt of it. Snape ignored the guilt he felt over hoping Dolohov’s torture lasted as long as possible to spare him and the Malfoys so they could breathe but for a minute.

“Where were your men, Dolohov?” Voldemort said again, approaching the now drooling form that remained lying on the ground.

“My Lord,” Dolohov panted, his eyes half-lidded as he tried to pull himself from the ground. “They were in the village – they were positioned at the perimeter–“

“But they served no purpose there, did they?” Voldemort spat, his red eyes burning into the man with disgust. “They didn’t even notice that Potter had arrived in Godric’s Hollow this evening. If not for Nagini, we wouldn’t have known. You were to implement an anti-apparition ward around the house, yet somehow – Potter managed to disapparate just as I arrived!”

Dolohov dissolved into screams again as Voldemort cast a second cruciatus and stood watching the man as his limbs spasmed against the ground. When the torture finally ended, the agony that radiated out from the dark mark returned at full force.

Yaxley was now leaning against the wall of the dining room for support. Peter had fainted long ago on the ground in the corner while Bellatrix remained upright, clutching her arm as her signature disturbed smile lingered on her lips. Snape forced his body to remain ridged even though he could taste bile at the back of his throat, and it felt as though someone was replacing his blood with acid.

“Yaxley,” Voldemort said, his red demon eyes turning to the man to his right.

“Yes, my Lord?” Yaxley stepped forward stiffly, his right knee buckling. A twitch had formed at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were squinted in pain.

“Find someone better suited to serve as your right-hand man. The next time I make a request, and it isn’t followed through – you will be the one held accountable.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“I want wards set up around Godric’s Hollow and Hogsmeade – I want to know if anyone comes and goes. Increase all patrols, double your men at St. Mungo’s, and get more snatchers on the streets of every wizarding town!”

“Yes, my Lord, right away,” Yaxley bowed his head., his entire body trembling now.

“Potter is using Polyjuice, so that means they’re using potion ingredients. Narcissa!” Voldemort turned to the woman who had quickly shifted in front of her son. “Lockdown the final apothecaries – I’m done playing games with these fools. If they won’t cooperate – kill them.”

“Yes, my Lord,” she said through clenched teeth, barely able to nod her head.

The agony from the mark had started to cause muscles spasms, and Snape could feel his spine stiffen. The second he could no longer feel his legs, he doubled his occlumency efforts to lessen the effects of the pain.

“And someone clean this garbage off the floor!” Voldemort screamed before he disapparated with a final blow through the mark.

Yaxley collapsed against the wall, Lucius fell to his wife’s feet, Bellatrix gasped in a bizarre sort of pleasure, and Greybeard fell into the chair beside him as his eyes rolled back into his head. Snape was fairly certain he heard Draco throw up and Narcissa fall against the wall – while he himself felt the hot blood that encircled his fingers from where his nails had cut into his skin. The room was quiet except for the heavy breathing and Draco’s whimpers of pain. 

It would be several long minutes before anyone else dared try to move.

-x-x-

“Severus, are you alright?” Dumbledore and Phineas’s voices rang out when he apparated into the office and stumbled against the door to his quarters.

“Fine,” he grit out through bared teeth as he forced his hand to open the door before him. 

It was the final barrier until he could release his occlumency and allow his body to react to what had happened. He fell through the opening, collapsing to his knees just inside and throwing the door shut with his magic. Then he began to pant, his body shaking uncontrollably as his knees gave way, and he crumpled to the floor.

Once Snape had given himself a full minute to breathe at the Manor, he forced his limbs to respond to his commands, moving his legs and making his way over Dolohov’s unconscious body and down the stairs until he pushed out into the cold. Even then, he had not allowed himself to react to the agony. His body moved mechanically. He used his last remaining strength to continue his hold on the modified occlumency he used to withstand torture so he could get to the gate of the Manor.

It was something he had developed over years of working as a double agent. Something that he created based on his muggle knowledge of human biology and the body’s nervous system. Using his magic, he was able to block the signals from his pain receptors from being detected in his brain, and to a certain extent, he was able to stop feeling altogether. It had allowed him to better withhold information and withstand questioning – though he was only able to do it for so long. Thus, the secret was to withstand the pain as long as physically possible and only use the technique when he was at risk of breaking his cover, needed to leave the situation as quickly as possible or didn’t want to show any weakness before his companions.

Hence tonight, he was the first to leave the Manor while his companions would remain there in agony for a significant while longer. By now, the other Death Eaters would have only just started to drag themselves around the dining room – still unable to move and likely crying out in agony as their muscles seized. They would be desperate to remove themselves and seek solitude so they could whimper and cry shamelessly, but most of them wouldn’t be able to.

The memory of the night felt like an ancient one now.

He was unable to make his limbs hold his weight to pry himself from the floor, so he rolled onto his back with a groan. He was about to face the severe consequences of his own invention. The modified occlumency only delayed the brain’s detection of the pain – it did not eliminate it. The damage to his muscle tissue had still occurred, and the signals had still been sent. While worth it in the moment, the after-effects would be about three times worse than if he had just allowed himself to feel the pain at the time. But he had no interest in rolling about on the floor of the Manor with the rest of them, watching silent tears roll down Narcissa’s face as Draco fainted from the pain. 

He much preferred to retreat to the castle, to drink his calming draught, his dreamless sleep draught and to pass out for hours until he awoke stiff and miserable as always.

His hand trembled toward the pocket on his cloak. It was stocked with miniaturized potions in case of an emergency. He usually had blood replenisher, dittany, and headache cure, among other things – this was not the first time he’d been in such a condition. He grabbed a bottle of calming draught and returned it to full size wordlessly, biting the stopper out and spitting it to the ground. His hand shook violently as he raised it to his lips, a steady stream of hot tears pouring involuntarily from his left eye as his body reacted in overdrive to the agony he had delayed. He forced himself to swallow the liquid, and then he began to count backwards from fifty; that’s how long it would take until the potion kicked in and eased his burning nerves. 

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply in and out as his limbs continued to shake and his skin burned as if set on fire.

-x-x-

December 25, 1997

Hogwarts

The gentle ring of the bell echoed through his subconscious. He made to move his hand to tap it so the ringing would stop, but his arm was like lead, dead and unmoving at his side. His chest felt heavy, and for a moment, his brain concluded that he must finally be dead. That was, at least, until the dull ache of his muscles began to radiate through his body and he recalled the events of the evening before. A deep, ragged groan escaped his lips, and he hauled himself up, slapping the small bell silent.

“Why couldn’t I just be dead,” he breathed and ran his hands over his face.

After the calming draught had kicked in the night before, he had managed to drag himself into bed and drink two other potions before blacking out. Now he forced his aching and torn muscles to move toward the door as his head started to throb.

“What?!” He wrenched the door to the office open roughly and leaned against the frame, not bothering to move any further than necessary.

“Severus,” Phineas said slowly. He sounded hesitant, and Snape could see that his eyes were tracing over his ragged form with concern.

A low growl came from the back of his throat as he rolled his eyes. He was perfectly well aware he looked like shit – and he did not want any pity.

“I’m already up. Let’s not waste it – what now?”

“I told you we should have waited, Dumbledore,” Phineas muttered before clearing his throat. “It’s Hermione and Potter – I know where they are. They’re in the Forest of Dean.”

Snape’s eyes widened, and he pushed himself from the door frame to hobble into the office. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Severus – positive. They’ve mentioned it twice now. Hermione used to camp there as a child, so they were talking about it. It doesn’t seem like they will be moving any time soon – perhaps you can bring them the sword.”

“The Forest of Dean is rather large,” Snape said slowly as he sank into his desk chair and grabbed a headache curing potion from the lower drawer. “Do you have any idea where?”

“No,” Phineas frowned, and he looked rather sympathetic. It made Snape uncomfortable to see such an expression on his face, so he scowled back in return. “Unfortunately, I don’t.”

“Alright,” Snape averted his eyes and downed the potion. “I’ll start looking for them today – keep an eye to make sure that they do not move locations. I’ll check in with you as I search – just give me a moment to change.”

“Severus, perhaps you should rest first–“ Phineas started, but Snape cut him off.

“I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

He pushed himself up from the chair and hobbled back to his quarters, closing the door and making for his private potion store that he kept in the large wardrobe by his bed. Grabbing several unique bottles, he made his way to the bathroom and downed them, grimacing at the taste and turning on the shower. Nothing ever beat natural healing – or a trip to Madam Pomfrey – but right now, a bunch of his own healing potions would do the trick. They would get his body functioning so he could go traipsing around a massive forest looking for a needle in a haystack. 

Snape snorted; first, he wanted a hot shower.

He emerged from his room twenty minutes later, dressed and armed with a collection of special potions of his own creation, his limbs once again moving fluidly like a well-oiled machine. When he returned from the Manor, it was late into the night, and he had passed out for the majority of Christmas day – the sad humour was not lost on him that he had spent Christmas, traditionally a day to be with friends and family, alone in agony.

No matter, he thought. 

It was better to search the forest during the night anyways. It would lessen the chance of an encounter with a muggle partaking in ridiculous snow activities. He gathered the sword from Dumbledore’s portrait before apparating into the cold darkness. He started on the Eastern side, planning to work his way through the middle and then move North. He apparated, cast detection spells, walked several feet, and then repeated the process. It was slow, and by the time first light crept through the trees, he was feeling tired, hungry, and annoyed.

He apparated back to the castle around 9:00 am to confirm with Phineas that the duo had not moved location, ate a quick breakfast, glared at Dumbledore, and then returned to the woods to search again. It wasn’t until he reached an area particularly off the beaten track in the North, upon the wee hours of the morning December 27th that he stumbled upon something interesting. It was faint, incredibly faint, and had he not been strolling deliberately slowly while casting both human and ward detection spells, he would have missed it, but it was there. The faint trace of a ward registered about 200 feet away on his left. Casting a disillusionment, he crept forward; his ears strained against the quiet of the forest while he approached.

What he found left him speechless.

It wasn’t a traditional ward. It did not block people from entering or act to befuddle so as to keep unwanted humans away without them realizing it. It was barely detectable. Only someone skilled in casting a ward detection spell or trained to observe for them would have noticed it. He stayed several feet back from the invisible wall, tracing his wand near it as he examined it. A small smile curled at the corner of his mouth without him realizing it.

“It’s an alarm,” he murmured. Not so different from the one he used on his own chambers and had modified to create the bell for Phineas. It was designed to alert the caster if someone crossed it, to give warning of approach. He cast a second detection spell and was unsurprised at the findings. “Clever girl.”

There was another ward beyond this, possibly even a third beyond the second. Granger, or at least he assumed that it was Granger because he doubted that Potter had come up with the idea, had cast a layered alarm system around their location to give them time to escape if anyone approached.

He frowned. 

It would be impossible for him to cross. If he did, he would trigger the alarm, and they would be gone before he got anywhere close to them. He didn’t want to alert them – he just needed to somehow get their attention so that they could retrieve the sword. To make matters worse, the sword had to be obtained through an act of heroism, or it would disappear from their possession. Even if he could apparate right in front of them, which he doubted was possible – if Granger was casting these types of spells, she would have warded her location to be undetectable – he couldn’t just leave the sword at their feet and say ‘here you go!’.

“Fucking bullshit plan,” he groaned as he ran a hand through his hair. Everything Dumbledore had a hand in was more complicated than necessary. He moved along the ward, examining the landscape and looking for a way to make his task possible. It wasn’t until he recalled the pond that he had passed on his way toward the ward that an idea struck him. “Well, I suppose it’s not the worst idea in the world.”

Making his way back to the pond, he walked out onto its center, cut a hole in the ice, and examined the depth of the water. It needed to be deep enough to force Potter to fully submerge himself and struggle to get the sword.

It needs to be dangerous – but not too dangerous, he snorted at the thought. His urge to be sarcastic about the ridiculousness of his situation getting the best of him as he dropped the sword in. Just almost kill him, but don’t totally kill him – just enough to really let his courage shine through, like how Dumbledore would want. Merlin, this is fucking absurd.

Once he had finished setting the sword, he froze the ice back into place and vanished his footsteps from the snow. As stupid as the whole thing seemed, he was pleased with how it turned out. You could just see the glint of the sword through the ice, and it would be impossible to miss it against the barren landscape. 

Now, all he had to do was implement the final step and hope that Potter took the bait.

-x-x-

His patronus approached the first ward cautiously, brushing against it with a sort of curiosity that he still, to this day, had not managed to understand. While a patronus was not a sentient being, they certainly had the odd behaviour that might lead you to think it so once you learned the extent to which you could use them. Her form was beautiful, gentle, and her eyes appeared filled with emotions that he knew were not there. It made his heart ache as he watched it and fought to push the thoughts of Lily back down into the black depths of his heart.

He hated casting it. 

He never cast it in front of anyone, and he would never cast it again if he could help it. Had he cared about himself more, he might find it upsetting that his only happy thoughts were of a dead woman. A woman he had loved desperately, foolishly, and completely unrequited since he was eleven years old. Instead, it just made him feel pathetic, and it caused a dull ache in his chest. 

He scoffed; his life was a sad joke.

The doe gently pushed forward through the ward, moving carefully inward to the North. He knew it would do as directed. It would approach Potter and Granger and gather their attention; then it would lead them back to the pond. If they didn’t follow – then he would just have to try again, but for now, he moved back toward the pond to wait. 

There he stood, faced with yet a second problem that needed to be resolved rather quickly. There was no way in hell he was letting that sword out of his sight until Potter or Granger grasped it firmly in their hands, and he was confident the task was complete. However, he was keenly aware that there was no way for him to stay within line of sight without Granger detecting him based on the wards he had examined.

He needed to hide. He needed to ensure that he did not register on any detection spells cast during their approach, and there was only one way to do it. His nose scrunched in disgust as he pulled the bottle from his cloak and returned it to full size. 

It was a horrible concoction he had discovered by accident while working on a project for Dumbledore years back. The potion made it feel like there was a block of ice sitting in your gut while your body was frozen from the inside out. It slowed your heartbeat to a dangerously low level and changed your physical and magical signatures so much you didn’t register as anything more than a mouse. The downside was that it made you unable to move quickly or do much of anything until it wore off – this made sense considering that the potion nearly killed you, keeping your body barely functional. 

He continued to frown in anticipation as he pulled a second small bottle from his coat. This beast would skyrocket your heart rate and send your adrenal glands into overdrive. It felt very similar to being hit in the chest with a giant hammer, and it would counter the effects of the first potion.

It was a dangerous game to play, using potions to alter your body rapidly between two extreme states. One of these days, his heart would give out, and he would surely die from the abuse he had put his body through. It was only fair. Magic may be magic, but you couldn’t toy with yourself in the extremes that he had without consequence – unless you were prepared to follow the Dark Lord’s footsteps and lose yourself completely in the process. Since he wasn’t, it was only a matter of time until the damage was permanent. Though he doubted it mattered. The war would kill him before he had to deal with the tremors, the hardened heart muscles, the kidney failure, or the permanent sensory damage – so he opened the first bottle and swallowed the contents.

The cold wind blew across his face as he waited.

It had been many long minutes, and he had yet to see his doe return. He could hear his own heart thudding agonizingly slow in his chest, and the cold that consumed his body was insufferable. He would be shivering if he was capable of such a thing, but right now, the most he could manage was to lean against the oak tree on his left while sitting in the snow disillusioned. He held the second potion loosely in his hand, ready to counteract the effects of the first and step in or return home when the time came. He was just starting to consider giving up when he caught a glimpse of silver against the darkness, and his breath stilled in the air.

Just how many wards did they have?

He watched quietly as Potter and Granger followed behind his patronus. They stopped to cast what he could only assume was a detection spell before they cautiously moved to the edge of the pond. Their ungloved hands were clasped tightly together, and Granger held her wand up to shine a light over the ice. They were both looking toward the cleared spot where the doe had stood only moments ago. He noted that Potter seemed to be wandless, which was odd, that the pair moved as if they were a single unit, which was new, and that they both seemed healthy enough despite their multiple runs with the werewolves.

Which was unexpected.

It was curious and mildly fascinating to watch them move while they thought they were alone, seeing their eyes dart around – fierce and wary with each step more cautious than the last. He could hear them muttering when they reached the center, and Potter pulled the girl toward the ice.

They moved logically, which was somewhat surprising. Snape watched as they worked their way through the problem until they reached the inevitable conclusion that they would need to enter the water. He suspected that Harry would dive right in, bold and courageous – stupid, like his father – not hesitating for a second while his ape brain moved into true Gryffindor form. So his brow furrowed in confusion when he heard them mutter in discussion, and then Granger proceeded to remove her coat. Potter looked about to stop her, but she spoke to him sternly, and he relented before pulling her into a tight hug. It was not what he had expected – yet it was nothing compared to what came next.

Snape had barely begun to wrap his head around the idea of Potter allowing Granger to go into the water instead of himself when his eyes widened at the display before him. Granger had just kissed Potter – and Potter was now kissing her back. His mind reeled in confusion, slowed by the effects of the potion. He was unable to process the data properly. He thought Potter was with the annoying redhead, that Granger was with the idiot redhead, and for the first time in possibly his entire life, he felt dumbfounded.

He truly didn’t give a shit about who Potter snogged or who Potter wanted. He could care less. Frankly, any information on Potter’s love life was disturbing to him and made him massively uncomfortable. What startled him was the heartfelt goodbye they gave each other. It caught him off guard and made him feel like a dirty old professor involuntarily peeping on his students. He felt like he was missing some vital piece of information and was intruding on the situation completely unprepared. He averted his eyes the second that Granger reached to remove her pants. While it was the logical thing to do before submerging oneself in freezing water, he did not wish to see it. 

He didn’t look back until he had heard the splash from Granger enter the water.

Then it was just him and Potter. He scowled as he watched the boy. He was poised over the entrance to the pond intently, waiting for Granger to return. Each second clocked by at an agonizingly slow rate.

What the hell is taking her so long? Snape sneered as he watched Potter’s form.

The pond wasn’t that deep. He had placed the sword there because it would have been reasonably challenging to get, not because it would be impossible. The hardest part about the task was enduring the cold, not the depth. After another minute ticked by, Snape found himself uncorking the bottle of crimson liquid he had been holding in his hand. 

Something was wrong; he could feel it.

“FUCK!”

Potter’s voice rang out through the forest, and he waved Granger’s wand at the ice hole while Snape downed the second potion in a single gulp. He clutched at his chest in agony as his eyes shot wide and his heart began to accelerate like a steam engine, fighting against the effects of the first potion. It felt like someone had just broken every single one of his ribs with a hammer. He clenched his jaw to stop the groan that threatened to escape him as he stumbled forward from the tree and made his way toward the pond. Potter had ripped off his jacket and glasses and dove headfirst into the pond – leaving the wand behind on the ice.

“What the fuck happened?” Snape hissed, taking advantage of the duo being underwater to groan in agony while the adrenaline pumped through his body. His hands shook violently. He pulled his wand from his arm holster and positioned himself behind the nearest tree – preparing to step in and pull them both from the water when suddenly Potter shot from the surface, landing hard on the ice with a deep thud.

The boy fought with something wound tight around Granger’s neck. He squinted his eyes to see it, but it didn’t make any sense. He had checked the pond to ensure there were no Grindylows or other dangerous creatures before placing the sword. Yet Potter could not get the item off and instead tore the sword from her frozen grip and threw it across the ice.

What the fuck? 

Snape was about to stun the boy to stop the crazed behaviour and take over when Potter pointed his wand at the girl’s chest and cast a heart restarting charm. Granger shot back to life, and for the second time that day, Snape felt like he was missing something, something massively important, and he was the only one in the vicinity that didn’t understand what was going on.

Snape pulled back toward the tree, wand still raised, heart pounding and brow furrowed in confusion as the scene continued to play out in front of him.

He should have left the second that Granger rose from the dead, but he froze on spot when he heard Harry speak. His heart started to beat in his ears at the word that he heard. His hand trembled as the air shifted and Granger stood holding the sword firmly in her hands – preparing to strike the small locket which Potter held. His blood ran cold as the Dark Lord’s voice rang out into the night and began taunting the girl with cruel and malicious comments. His eyes shot wide, and fear gripped his heart. He stumbled backward into a bush as a wave of air pulsed out across the pond when the locket was shattered – Granger’s scream of defiance ringing in his ears.

The information he had been missing hit him hard as a bludger. Snape saw the pieces fall into place, understanding now what Dumbledore had been hiding. He heard the word echo in his head as the ever-burning flame that fueled his anger exploded with blind rage. He disapparated the second Potter had pulled Granger into his arms in triumph.

-x-x-

“YOU SENT POTTER AND GRANGER TO DESTROY HORCRUXES ON THEIR OWN?! ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE!” Snape launched himself at Dumbledore’s portrait the second he appeared in the office and slammed his hands against the walls on either side of the frame. His brain didn’t even register the gasps and fearful looks that came from the surrounding portraits.

“How did you – Severus, what did you do?!”

“What did I do? WHAT DID I DO?! What have you done! How long have you known this – how long have you kept this a secret?!” Snape bellowed in Dumbledore’s face. He was breathing heavily from the potion he had taken in the forest, and his anger was shaking his entire body. For the first time ever, he wished that Dumbledore would return to life just so that he could kill him all over again. 

“Severus, calm down–“

“Do you even care what those things might do to them? Do you know the lingering effects of being exposed to them? What they’re capable of?! One almost drowned Granger in a pond tonight!”

“Severus, look, there’s a reason why–“

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?!” Severus pushed himself away from the wall and paced in a circle, willing his heart to calm down before it exploded in his chest or he punched a hole in Dumbledore’s portrait. They were both very real possibilities. He was flooded with more adrenaline than his body could handle, and his emotions were manic. He ran both hands over his face as he shook his head. “How many?”

“There is a reason I didn’t want you to have this information, Severus. If the Dark Lord finds out that you know–“

“HOW MANY?!” He screeched, coming to stand before the portrait again. His chest heaved as he fought for air, and his eyes dared Dumbledore to ignore his question once more.

“Seven,” Dumbledore said quietly, his face both angry and sad. Disgust lingered in the corner of his eyes as they traced over Snape’s face. He had always disagreed with Snape using the potions he’d created unless, of course, he directed it.

“Seven,” Snape uttered in disbelief, falling back against his desk and gripping the edges tightly. “Fucking hell, Albus – how could you be so irresponsible? You have people waging a war that they can never win. He’ll never die until they’re all destroyed.”

“You’ve taken that stuff again, haven’t you,” Dumbledore sniffed, his eyes sliding over Snape’s dilated pupils once more before trailing down to the tremor in his hands. “You know that messing around with those potions is going to kill you one of these days. If you don’t keep your heart rate down, you won’t make it through the night! So calm yourself, Severus!”

“My fate was sealed years ago – don’t lecture me. You even gave it your stamp of approval for Merlin’s sake,” Snape glared back at him. “Stop trying to change the subject – how many Horcruxes are left?”

Dumbledore paused, tightening his jaw before he begrudgingly responded. “Did they destroy the locket?”

“Yes,” he answered sharply. “And for the record, that’s what I did – I gave them the damn sword as you requested, but Granger nearly died retrieving it because the locket tried to drown her. I stayed to make sure they both lived. They destroyed it immediately after before I was able to leave.”

“Well, then there are four remaining.”

“It’s why they need the sword.” Snape shook his head, still struggling to digest everything. The effects of the potion were finally starting to slow, and he could feel his heart rate decreasing. “What are they?”

“We don’t know,” Dumbledore said soberly. “Harry and I retrieved the locket the same night as the astronomy tower. We were never able to finish locating the remaining objects, and that is the task that I have left to Harry. He has, of course, enlisted the help of Hermione and Ron.”

“So they have been wandering around for the last six months, alone, trying to find the remaining Horcruxes and the sword. I suppose it explains why the Weasley brat tried to steal it. But for fuck’s sake, Albus – they have nothing to go on, no support–”

“They are more capable than you think, Severus. They will find the remaining Horcruxes,” Dumbledore sighed and took a long pause. “Severus, there is something I must ask of you – something I debated asking you long ago before I died.”

“You mean before I killed you,” Snape said bitterly, his eyes circling back to Dumbledore’s.

“It was a request I made of you, Severus, and you spared me from a long and slow death – for that, I am and will forever be grateful to you,” Dumbledore said somewhat sternly, and Snape turned his eyes away. He couldn’t stomach the look that Dumbledore was giving him. “I knew if I told you what I must ask of you now – that you would discover the Dark Lord’s secret, and you would have realized that he had made Horcruxes. I suppose… that since you now know, it is as good a time as any. Severus, there is something that Harry must do, but not until the time in which the Dark Lord is most weakened – when he is fearing for his life, once all six Horcruxes have been destroyed.”

“Six?” Snape arched a brow in confusion, looking toward Dumbledore once more. “You said there were seven.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said sadly, and he pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “When the Dark Lord tried to kill Harry, and Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the killing curse rebounded on the Dark Lord, and a fragment of his soul blasted apart from the whole and latched itself onto the only living soul left in the collapsed building.”

Snape felt his jaw go slack as the gears in his head clicked into place – already piecing together what Dumbledore was avoiding saying bluntly.

“That piece of his soul lives on in Harry, Severus, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes – the connection between their minds which he has never understood.”

“Potter is the seventh Horcrux.” The words fell from Snape’s lips as a whisper. “So the boy… the boy must die?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said slowly, nodding his head. “And the Dark Lord himself must be the one to do it, Severus. That is essential.”

“You want me to tell him he must die,” Snape’s mouth was still ajar. “I thought – all this time… that we were protecting him for her. For Lily.”

“We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength,” Dumbledore had shut his eyes tight as he spoke, and he wore a very pained expression. “Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth: sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, he is prepared. You’ll recall before I died, I told you that I would have one final favour to ask after my passing when the time was right – this was it, Severus. You must tell the boy that he must die.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Snape breathed, a tightness forming in his chest. “You’ve kept him alive so that he could die at the right moment – you’ve raised him like a pig for slaughter.”

“It is what is necessary. Don’t act shocked, Severus. How many people have you watched die or killed yourself over the years?”

“Recently? Only the ones required per your plan,” Snape bit back, pushing away from his desk. “I knew you were using me. I knew it from the moment I declared my loyalty to you and began this double life, but I did it anyway. I knew you used people like tools until they were no longer useful, and then you throw them away – but I never expected you would stoop so low as to use a child. Growing him into exactly what you needed, patiently waiting until it was time to send him off to the butchers!”

“Don’t tell me you’ve come to care for the boy, Severus?” Dumbledore looked rather surprised and a bit hopeful. “After all these years of tormenting him so.”

“Care for him?” Snape spat, his hand trembling as he raised his wand and cast the one spell he had sworn earlier that day he never wanted to repeat. “Expecto patronum!”

The silver doe burst forward from his wand once more, prancing delicately around the office until she faded away from view. His chest constricted, and he felt a pull through his heart that he had not experienced in years. His throat closed shut as the weight of the world collapsed in on him.

“After all this time?” Dumbledore’s soft voice cut through his thoughts, and his eyes flashed toward the old man as his gaze hardened.

“Always.”

He moved across the office and pushed through the door to his quarters, slamming it so hard behind him the walls rattled throughout. He warded it, silenced it, and then let a ragged cry split from his lips as he grabbed the object nearest to him and hurled it into the wall, dropping to his knees as it shattered. The last time such a violent wave of emotion had wreaked havoc over his body was the night that Lily had died – and tonight, it felt like he was losing her all over again. But this time, his entire life was not only a long compilation of failures, it was also a lie.

He didn’t care about the Potter boy.

He had never cared about the boy, but everything he had done, every breath he had taken since he pledged himself to help Dumbledore, had been to keep him safe in her memory. He was to protect her son, for her, because Potter was the last living piece of her left – because it was what she had done in her last moments, and because he owed it to her for what he had done. Regardless of how much he despised the boy, he never wished him dead. He never wished him harm, even if he did wish that Potter wasn’t such an annoying little twat. 

More than anything, though, he wished that Lily was alive and that he had died in her place. He should have. He yearned to go back in time and correct the worst mistake of his life, the moment he had unknowingly betrayed the woman that he had loved and condemned a family of innocent people to death.

It had taken years for him to learn, to understand how truly horrible he was. How selfish he was, how undeserving he was of her or her love. He had long since accepted that they would have never worked. It was a fantasy, nothing more – a childhood infatuation prolonged by desperation and loneliness – and for all her perfection, she was flawed too. It took losing the love of his life for him to become a better person, for him to become someone whom she may have tolerated. It took sentencing countless innocent people to death and still many years after that for him to learn that he was wrong – and that he had been wrong about many things.

So, he continued to love her. Not romantically, but with a sense of indebted servitude. He continued to hold himself accountable for his actions and swore to dedicate his life to her in payment for his failure as a human being. Ensuring Harry’s safety was the one minuscule positive impact he could make in the world. It was the tiny secret legacy that he could leave behind, for her, so that when he did finally die, he would know that he hadn’t been a complete monster.

And now, after everything, Dumbledore had taken it all away from him. He’d taken that wish of providing protection away from Lily.

Thank you, SnowMione18, for reminding me to incorporate more romance and relationship building. This chapter is dedicated to you.

-x-x-

March 1998

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open. Her nose was nuzzled into Harry’s chest, right next to the scar left by the locket, and she could hear his even breath ghosting across the top of her head. She had woken once already, per her usual routine, trembling and looking around wildly with her wand raised. The familiar flash of green light and dead eyes haunted her mind and pulled her awake with fear. Though thankfully, over the last two weeks, her reaction to the dreams had improved, and she was able to return to sleep much quicker each night – turning over to face Harry and curling into his strong arms. For the moment, it seemed that Harry was still deeply asleep. So she moved a little closer, relaxing in his warmth, breathing in his scent, and enjoying the feel of their limbs being tangled together. 

She felt calm, laying there in his arms. Or at least as calm as she figured was possible until the war was over.

She tilted her head back a few inches to look at his face. He looked peaceful, and a small smile tugged at her lips as she gazed at him. It had become such a rare occurrence for him to look so calm. Over the last eight months, his resting face had become serious and thoughtful, and his boyish innocent charm, while still there deep underneath the surface, was no longer prominently displayed across his features. She only ever caught glimpses of it when they were both wrapped in bed, huddled with blankets, and she knew that it was a testament to the strength of their bond. 

Harry felt safe with her. He trusted her. He would let down his guard around her, and she would do the same. They had become inseparable, possibly even codependent, but not in a detrimental or pathetic way. She pressed her nose back into his chest and relished the warmth against the cold, which had quickly claimed her skin from the seconds apart.

So far, she had hardly allowed herself to entertain the idea of what would come after the war. There was no point in thinking about it. With everything going on around them, with their constant battle just to survive, she had no time to worry or fantasize about what life after the war might be like. Aside from the odd wandering thought of ‘how will I adapt?’ or, ‘will I return to school?’ and the occasional, ‘I don’t feel safe around people, and I don’t want to talk to them… so how will I deal with that?’ she had all but buried the ideas and questions into a neat and tidy little box at the back of her mind. 

It sat in the same place where she had buried her feelings for Ron after he left. 

The only difference was that she had resolved Ron’s box much more quickly and it was now completely gone from her head. Over and done with, efficiently unpacked and processed, because in the case of her feelings towards Ron, the answer was easy: she didn’t have any feelings for him anymore. 

They had rapidly died after his absence. Once she had had time to clear her head as she healed from the werewolf wounds and started to think clearly, objectively, she realized that he was not the man that she wanted him to be and that her attraction to him was little more than an infatuation based on childish hopes. It had never been grounded on any particular solid reason. 

Thinking of it now, she almost laughed at the idea of ever finding him attractive in any way, shape or form.

This box, though, the one that contained her future, was heavy, large, and made her feel anxious.

She had never been an overly social person to start with. Similar to Harry, the friends she made at Hogwarts were the first true friends she had ever had. She loved her friends. She wished the best for them, and she desperately wanted them to be safe. When they first left the Burrow, she had missed them terribly and wished that there was some way to see them – but as the months clocked by, she found herself becoming more and more reclusive, secretive, suspicious, and hardened. Especially after Ron and the wicked burn of his abandonment when they had needed him most.

Now, she was folding inward on herself and Harry, and if truth be told, she was absolutely terrified to see their peers and friends again.

Firstly, because danger followed her and Harry like a shadow, everywhere, constantly, and she did not want to endanger their friends. She would not be able to handle it if something awful befell Ginny, Neville, Luna, or anyone else from the gang because she and Harry showed up and inevitably brought death alongside them. 

Secondly, and this was the part that concerned her the most – she had no idea what to say to them or how to say anything to them. While she and Harry did talk frequently, and to an excessive amount when planning or practicing, it was different from any other relationship she had ever had. An immense amount of their communication had become non-verbal. Harry understood her, he knew her, and she knew him. She didn’t need to explain herself in full, and yet she knew that he would get it. When it came to the idea of speaking with anyone else or having a normal conversation, it just made her anxiety spike. 

She was out of practice; they both were. It was obvious just by looking at them that they were no longer typical teens, and they no longer fit into a normal world – though frankly, she wondered if they ever had. Now, her already existing social awkwardness was exacerbated.

She knew that their friends who remained at Hogwarts were fighting on their own front, waging war in any way that they could, and facing their own perils – but they still had each other. They still had the normalcy of being at school with other students and professors, and owls and post. They still had family and friends to fall back on and it provided them with some semblance of structure and community. Their world was so vastly different from what she and Harry had been experiencing that they were hardly comparable. She and Harry were out in the woods, travelling across the country every few days, running from snatchers and werewolves while they fought to obtain regular supplies. 

She didn’t like the idea of comparing, and she wasn’t trying to say that they were worse off – she was just worried that she and Harry might have become too detached. She was worried about how they would handle seeing their friends again. She already knew they wouldn’t react well to large crowds, and the idea of ‘rejoining society’ or ‘coming back to the world’ terrified her.

It would be a process, a long hard process where she already knew it was highly unlikely she would ever feel safe enough to sleep without him around.

She sighed. This thought was one that she only allowed herself to mull over while she laid in bed next to Harry each night, stealing his heat and tracing her fingers along his skin – because she felt safe with him, so the thought wasn’t quite as terrifying.

She gently placed a kiss to Harry’s collar bone, slowly moving her mouth along his neck, up his jaw to the corner of his mouth. Stubble had grown in along his jaw, making the skin feel rough against her lips. She hadn’t brought up what would happen to the two of them when everything was over because deep down, she knew they would stay together. It was all in the non-verbal communication that they shared. It was in the way that he looked at her. The way his hand lingered on hers and in how she looked to him and watched his movements. The idea of existing without him in a large world filled with other people that she may or may not have to interact with was just out of the realm of possibilities.

They would be together. 

This she knew.

She kissed the corner of his mouth as she mulled the thought over. It wasn’t out of possessiveness or neediness, and it wasn’t clingy or desperate – it was just something that she knew. And she knew that her confidence in their relationship stemmed from mutual respect, love, and a deep appreciation for him. She was more confident in that fact than she was that her heart would take its next beat.

“Mmmm.”

A low hum came from Harry’s chest as she kissed him, and she saw the corner of his lips twitch upwards. The sound vibrated deeply against her and sent a small shiver down her spine. She kissed him again when he slid his leg forward, pushing it between her thighs until it rested snugly against her center.

“Good morning,” he murmured, eyes still closed. He was clearly enjoying the light peppering of Hermione’s lips across his skin as he wrapped his hands more tightly around her.

“Good morning,” she whispered in return and laced a hand around his back up into his wild hair. She breathed lightly against his lips before a question flittered to her tongue from her earlier thoughts. “Harry?”

“Mhm?” He hummed, his hand shifting to trace small circles against the small of her back. Lightly working away at her stiff muscles as his eyes remained closed and he waited for her to continue.

“When this is all over – assuming we don’t die that is–“

“Of course.” Harry nodded a fraction. There was no humour in his voice; he wasn’t mocking her or being rude with his acknowledgement. They were both comfortable mentioning the possibility of death even though they both vehemently refused to let the other die.

“You’ll stay with me, right?” She whispered. Harry’s eyes snapped open the second her question left her lips, and she was met with bright green in the dim morning light. Her eyes darted between his, gauging the intensity at which he was watching her, and her fist tightened unconsciously in his hair. “Like this? I can’t even wrap my head around what’s to come, but – we’ll stay together, right?”

“Always,” he said gently, though the firm tone was unmistakable. Then his brow furrowed in question; clearly, he had also thought that the answer was obvious, so he had never brought it up. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing really,” she said honestly as she slid her leg over his, moving her body closer to him before she gave him a sad smile. “I was just thinking about Hogwarts, everyone there, and what it might be like to see them again, and I just thought, well – I can’t imagine sleeping without you. Or how on earth we are supposed to go back to how things were before.”

His eyes softened as he looked at her, a thousand unspoken words passing between them before he pulled her closer to him, kissing her deeply. He had thought of it too, of course he had. His hand on her back slid up her side to rest firmly on her ribs, and she felt her body tremble with anticipation under his touch. She pressed herself more firmly against the thigh that was between her legs. She loved the feel of him against her skin. She loved that he always made her relax under his touch and that he understood what she meant. He knew what she needed, and he was willing to give her the closeness and reassurance she was craving.

“Hermione,” he breathed against her lips as he pulled his head back to look at her. “Things will never go back to the way they were – but, wherever we go, whatever happens after – we’re going to stay just like this.”

Hermione smiled at him before she moved forward to capture his lips once more. Something about the warmth of being under the heavy blankets that separated them from the freezing tent air filled her with a sense of need, and she quickly found herself drowning under Harry’s lips. She panted against him as he rolled her over onto her back and pressed his thigh harder against her center. The weight of his body on top of hers made her heart flutter in her chest as she gripped at his shoulders and tried to pull him impossibly closer. Her hips arched up into him as a small groan escaped his lips. He bit her lip gently, his tongue tracing over her swollen lip as he gripped her small frame tightly.

Their location and skill with magic wasn’t the only thing that had changed since Birmingham.

Their physical relationship had, too. 

Ever since the day Harry had taken her on the rug in the living room when they had both been pent up, angsty, and aggressively adamant to refuse defeat, things between them had changed. There was a distinct shift in the sex that they had. It went from gentle and tentative to heavy and hot. They were urgent, desperate, and occasionally rough.

Perhaps it was the anxiety they both felt as they continued to relentlessly train, plan their next moves, and await news on the werewolf den that was seeping out into their sexual activities. Perhaps it was just a natural progression in any relationship; after all, they were completely comfortable around each other now, and she wanted to be closer to him. Or maybe it was tied to the shift in their demeanour as a result of the war. She would never know, but regardless, she regularly found herself grabbing at him roughly as his hand knotted in her hair, and they both gasped for breath. 

She had no complaints. 

She liked it.

It made her feel alive. It made her feel like she still had some sort of control over her life despite the disaster and chaos that surrounded them. So, maybe that’s what it was; it was their way of being free from the war. Or maybe it was just hormones. She really had no idea; all she knew was that she never wanted it to stop.

She moaned as Harry pushed against her body, pressing her into the mattress. She traced her nails across the skin of his shoulders as his lips moved along her neck. She could feel his hardness through their pajama bottoms, and she needed more. She needed to satisfy the deep craving that had stirred in her core the moment Harry kissed her deeply. She moved her hands down his frame, grabbing at the band of his pants and pushing them down. He leaned to the side on his elbow, his lips never leaving her skin as he took over and started to remove his pants. She followed suit, quickly working to shuck off her bottoms before tossing them to the ground near her purse.

“Harry,” she groaned as she felt his stiff member between her legs, and she had to resist the urge to just pull him inside of her. 

She wanted to try something different, something she had heard the girls mention at school. So, she pushed against his shoulder and forced him to roll over onto his back. She moved with him, straddling his legs and sitting on top of him. A low groan left his lips as she ground her center against his length, resting her hands flat on his chest. 

Their eyes met.

His were half shut, lustful with the faintest hint of feral desire. He wanted her. She could see it, and she could feel it in the way that his hands gripped her hips. It made her shudder as she moved against him but refused to let him slip inside – only teasing him with the gentle roll of her hips. 

It was a new feeling, something very equivalent to power or control, and she found that she liked it. His hands tightened on her hips as he pulled her down further and moved with her motions. She could see him fighting the urge to push himself between her slick folds as he watched her move above him – waiting for her to continue the lead she had so clearly claimed. He was captivated, and he was controlled despite his want. His left hand slid up her side, pushing up her tank top as a low hiss escaped his lips.

“Fuck, Hermione,” he groaned, his hips pushing up into hers. 

She briefly removed her hands from his chest to pull her shirt off over her head, completely unfazed that she was now straddling him naked – baring her body and her scars to him fully in the morning light. She had come a long way from being insecure about her looks, and as she watched Harry’s gaze trace over her skin, she could see the hunger. Which only made her own desire grow.

“You are so fucking beautiful, Hermione,” Harry murmured, his voice low and dark with want. “Uungghhh, I want you.”

Her mouth twitched into a faint smirk before she bit her bottom lip. 

She had never been on top, and she was amazed at how natural it felt, how easy it was for her hips to move over his. She reached down between them and gently grabbed him, aligning him with her entrance before she began to lower herself. Her eyes fluttered closed at the feeling. She wasn’t sure if it was something that she would ever not get chills from as her body shuddered and adjusted to his length. 

It was tight. 

It was always tight, but yet he slid into her easily from the wetness that had been building between her legs. She heard him groan beneath her, and she peered down through the bottom of her lashes at him to see it. An almost painful expression of pleasure was struck across his face as he stilled his hips, resisting the urge to thrust up into her hard.

“Fuck, Harry,” she breathed, dropping her head so her forehead rested against his. She felt so full. It was the best feeling in the world, and she groaned as she rocked her hips gently, gripping his shoulder more tightly. “I love the way you feel.”

“Ungghh,” Harry groaned and pulled her lips down to his quickly as he pushed his hips up into her. He devoured her, and she let him, willingly opening her mouth and moaning as his tongue traced over her teeth.

Their movements grew quicker and deeper with each motion. It only took a second for her to get the timing right, and soon Hermione was panting over top of him. Her hands clutched at his chest as each roll of her hips became rougher, and Harry’s grip on her hips tightened. She could hear herself moaning. She could feel his warm breath on her face as he panted. His nails dug into her skin, and then he thrust his hips up with each roll and hit the glorious bundle of nerves deep within her – causing her head to roll back as expletives poured nonsensically from her lips.

“Fuck Harry, fuck Harry, Harry – oh my god – right there. Merlin – don’t stop pushing up!” Hermione groaned as sweat started to form on her back.

She continued to rock her hips back and forth. She pushed her hair back from her face to keep it from swinging wildly with their motion, and she let her fingers trail slowly down her front, a daze consuming her body as the sensations quivering through her grew exponentially.

“Shit – Hermione – I’m going to come,” Harry panted. “Fuck! Don’t stop, I want you to come – I want you to ride my cock until you come.” 

His deep baritone reverberated through her. His words sent a primal chill of immense pleasure down her spine all the way to her toes as her mouth fell open and her head lolled back. She’d never heard such dirty words leave his mouth before, but she found no embarrassment with it – only the deep wave of carnal lust and arousal. It made any rational thought vacant the premise of her mind as she rocked her hips harder, and more nonsense poured from her lips. 

She had never, not ever, felt the coil wind so impossibly tight at her center. She could feel the muscles in her body contracting as the pressure grew. She felt drunk with bliss as her heart raced. It felt as if she had lost control of her body and mind. 

A deep low guttural moan escaped her lips as white blinded her vision, and she came harder than she ever had in her life. Her whole body shuddered, her back curved, her eyes screwed shut, her body glistened with sweat as she rocked herself against Harry in jerky motions. She felt him grow even harder still, then he came undone beneath her. She heard a deep growl escape his chest as he gipped her like death and thrust himself into her hard.

Her brain had stopped working. It was official, she was down for the count, and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Waves of pleasure rolled through her body as Harry pulled her down against his chest, kissing her fiercely as they both continued to grind against one another, drawing out the almost unbearable bliss from their orgasms as she collapsed against him entirely. They stayed that way for several minutes, Harry kissing her languidly as his hands lazily trailed circles across her skin. She felt like she was melting into his body as she moved her lips against his until she finally felt him soften within her. Their lips fell apart slowly, both of them panting and looking at each other with hazed, sex-addled stares.

“I love you, Hermione,” he murmured, the words soft as they puffed out against her face, and he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. A drunken smile splayed across her face as she rubbed her thumb over his arm.

“I love you, Harry.”

“You want breakfast?” He asked, still breathless. She could see his chest rise and fall quickly as a smile lingered on his lips.

“Mm – shower first.” It was all she could manage to say. Her heart was still racing, she was covered in a sheen of sweat, and her body felt shaky from the unfamiliar motions of riding Harry.

“Yes – definitely. Good idea.”

They slowly pulled themselves from bed. Hermione silently vanished the after-effects of Harry’s orgasm from her body so as not to make a mess before she summoned some fresh clothes from her purse, which laid partially open on the floor from when she had summoned an extra blanket in the night. Then they both made their way to the bathroom and cranked the heat on the water, washing quickly before they started their day.

“So, I think we should make a plan to go to Xenophilius’s in the next week or two,” Hermione said as she scooped a spoonful of oatmeal and paused before taking a bite. “I just finished bottling the last of the calming draught we could brew and – well, we are completely out of ingredients except for some odds and ends.”

Harry nodded, picking up his already finished bowl and bringing it over to the sink. They both knew that obtaining any more ingredients was out of the question – the Death Eaters had officially locked down the apothecaries, and Arthur had advised them to avoid any wizarding cities at all costs. If they needed anything else specifically, they would need to arrange a drop with Arthur, but that would only put the man at risk both for purchasing the ingredients himself and for completing the drop. Hypothetically they had more than enough blood replenisher, calming draught, dittany, antivenom, pepperup, and a variety of other potions to make it through the war. Though, in Hermione’s opinion, a million bottled potions still wouldn’t make her feel prepared.

Then again, nothing would.

“I agree,” Harry said, taking a seat across from her again after cleaning his bowl and waiting for her to finish eating. “I want to run a few more spells with the wand from Evan first – but I thought we could go toward the end of March. We can get a few more practice rounds in and plan a way in.”

Hermione nodded, chewing her oatmeal thoughtfully as she started making plans in her head. Evan’s wand had proved to be most interesting. While it was fantastic to have two wands again – his seemed peculiar in its functionality. The wand blatantly refused to cast a bombarda yet seemed to have a particular affinity to sectumsempra. It disliked unlocking charms, producing nothing but red sparks out the tip when they tried it and yet seemed fond of summoning charms. 

Despite their best efforts and even an arithmancy calculation she had attempted over the last two weeks to try and predict what the wand would reject, they were unable to predict its finicky yet consistent behaviour. Thus, they had been left with the only reliable option of testing each and every spell that they knew while they kept a mental list. Thankfully, Harry and herself did not require a wand to cast most spells anymore, including a bombarda. But having a semi-functional wand was always better than having no wand, and it was good to know what they could use the thing for.

“There were a few other medical spells I wanted to run through as well,” Hermione said as she finished her breakfast and pushed herself up from the table. Despite their extensive workout routines and training, it was odd that she somehow always felt stiff and had sore muscles after sex with Harry. She assumed the activities must use very different muscles groups… or that the intensity of their sex had escalated more than she realized. “Let’s aim for the 27th as a goal. I’d suggest we use one of the two of our last Polyjuice transformations for the visit, but I suspect Xenophilius will need to know that it is us. I doubt he would invite strangers in. So, we are going to be stuck walking a decent way to his house.”

“Yes, I had thought about that,” Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair and propping his chin upon his folded hands. “Luna had mentioned that her mother set up some sort of bizarre anti-apparition ward around the perimeter, so we will have to apparate nearer to the Burrow and then walk in. It will be risky – I have no doubt that the Lovegood’s are being watched after what the Quibbler ran.”

“I know,” Hermione said grimly as she stretched her arms above her head in preparation for what always came after breakfast, their workout routine and intense rounds of dodging and throwing mild hexes at each other in the snow. “We can disillusion, shield, and cloak our way in. If something happens inside though, we’re screwed – we can’t apparate within 200m of their house.”

“We will just have to remain disillusioned and refresh our shields. No one will be expecting that – it will give us an advantage to get away, and then we run like hell.”

“Yeah,” Hermione sighed. “Once again I’m left wondering if the world has a grudge against us – or that maybe someone is secretly routing for Tom because sometimes it just feels like everything is trying to kill us.”

“No kidding,” Harry snorted as he pulled himself up from the table and followed Hermione over to the open space in the living room so they could complete their pushups, crunches, and other exercises. His voice took on a somber tone as he continued to voice his thoughts. “Though really – it’s because they’re well organized and prepared. The Ministry and public didn’t want to listen when we had the chance to properly prepare. They dug their heels in and stuck their heads in the sand – and now we are paying the price for their actions or lack of action, I should say. All we had was a small band of dedicated Order Members with minimal direction and no real funding or resources leading our defences. He had a whole damn following that worked tirelessly in the background collecting resources and getting prepared for years. It’s our own fault.”

“It’s their fault,” Hermione corrected as she kneeled on the floor and began her first rep of pushups. “You warned them – we tried. But we were just kids, Harry. You can’t lump yourself in with them and take the blame on this one. At the time, we had no idea what was coming.”

“Maybe,” he breathed as he completed his tenth pushup with ease. “Though it hardly matters now. We are still the ones wading through the shitstorm.”

“Well – you’re certainly right about that,” Hermione muttered.

-x-x-

March 26, 1998

The previous twelve days passed by quickly, with Hermione and Harry moving campsites only once – to a still farther North location near the edge of the water on a frigid cliff. Every morning they awoke to the cold, hauled themselves from bed, and trained all day. They had already repacked her purse and medical kits three times, each time making minor changes to allow for better efficiency that could mean the difference between life and death during a battle. They had reviewed her map of Ottery St. Catchpole and the surrounding wizarding communities, devised a plan of entry, and selected the best place in which to apparate to Xenophilius’s in a few days’ time. They discussed the possible locations of Horcruxes and, unfortunately, agreed that at some point, after taking the trip to Xenophilius’s, they would need to return to Hogwarts – but they placed that on the back burner, agreeing not to touch it until they had spoken to Mr. Lovegood.

They spent the majority of their time physically training, running laps, extending their shield charms, practicing the new medical skills Hermione flagged, learning Harry’s new-found liquid nitrogen spell, and practicing their duelling. The pattern was so ingrained in them that their bodies moved mechanically with no complaint as their movements became more silent, more precise, and more deadly day by day. 

The only thing that changed as the days went by was the number of exercises that they were able to complete, the amount of weight they could lift, and the number of spells they were able to cast from Evan’s overparticular wand. They had spent over four hours the previous day wielding hexes at each other in the tent, neither one of them faltering once from their circle. They gave up only because Harry’s stomach had rumbled, drawing them out from their obsessive state and making them realize that they had practiced for an hour and a half longer than what they had initially intended.

Two days ago, they received an update from Arthur, which indicated that he and his team had finally gathered enough information to confirm the pattern of werewolf activity around Birmingham and that Shacklebolt had given his full support to begin plans of an offensive attack. Over the next few weeks, the Order would be collecting resources and devising a strategy for entry. One that would ensure a quick in and out mission which resulted in the complete annihilation of the den and the capture, or death, of Arlo. Arthur had personally assured Hermione, he had vowed really, that he would destroy Arlo’s research and burn the place to the ground. The news had caused Hermione’s heart to catch in her chest as a tiny flame of hope sprang to life in her heart. It made it easier to focus on their own task knowing that something was happening within the Order. 

‘Finally,’ she had whispered into Harry’s shoulder as she held him close. ‘Rose might rest in peace’.

Today, the weather had begun to warm, and while the frozen cliff side was still covered in snow and ice, the air was mild, and the sun was peeking out through the clouds. In the morning, they decided to take advantage of the odd sunny day and venture forth from the tent to train aggressively, agreeing to stop only when the timer sounded. If you got hit, you reset and continued. After three hours of running around in the snow, slipping on the ice, ducking and dodging, and rolling around as they hurled spells at one another, they were exhausted, and neither one of them had landed a single blow despite the fact that they were giving it their all.

Hermione ran and rolled under a silent stunning charm that Harry had cast sans wand.

He’d boxed her into a corner against the cliffside, and she was cursing her choice to roll left instead of right. She had done it to avoid a rather nasty looking ice crevasse, but now she was running out of places to go and was relying on her circle training to avoid his spells. If he grew any closer, though, she would be able to punch him in the face or the ribs – which was something she would do without a second thought in a real battle. 

Their physical training had not just been for agility while duelling. They had begun to incorporate anything and everything that they could get their hands on, including firming up their punches and reading about some more… unpleasant techniques, such as gouging out your target’s eyes with your thumbs. It hadn’t exactly made for light bedtime reading, but she would rather know how to do it and not need it than find herself in a situation where she was magicless and unable to defend herself.

She glanced rapidly to the rocks behind her.

There was no way she would be able to cross around behind him, but there was nowhere left to go but up. She saw his next spell the instant he cast it, a petrificus totalus, and she moved without thinking, not taking even a second to consider if the idea would work. She jumped, high, reaching her hand up to the rocks behind her and casting a silent sticking charm. Harry’s spell hit the rock beneath her, flying through the space where her legs had been only a moment ago as she firmly planted her feet on the wall behind her. Then in one swift motion, she pushed forward, removing the sticking charm and launching herself into a roll over top of Harry. She had barely hit the snow before she threw herself to the right and rolled to face him, avoiding the stunning spell he’d cast as he spun around. She popped up to her knees, wand raised with the stunning spell on the tip of her tongue as the timer went off, and they both froze.

“Sticking charm?” Harry breathed heavily, reaching out his free hand to pull her up from the ground.

“Yeah,” she panted. “Sort of boxed myself in there – didn’t see anywhere else to go but up.”

“Creative,” he grinned, pushing some loose strands of hair from his face and grinning at her. He had become accustomed to the motion, doing it without even thinking now since tying his hair back never seemed to hold up. “I’ll keep that in mind. I hardly think anyone would be expecting that one.”

“Honestly – I’m not even sure that I was expecting it,” she laughed as she followed him back to the tent.

They ate a quick lunch, scarfing down the food and stretching at the table in preparation for round two. With a rare sunny day like today, they would be fools to hide indoors. They both planned to work themselves outside until they had nothing left to give – duelling in the tent just wasn’t the same, and it was nice to be able to practice outside without having to limit themselves on duration so they wouldn’t freeze to death. So, they returned outside after cleaning up the kitchen and began their second round of training. Three hours later, Hermione had managed to catch Harry in a leg locker curse a second before the timer went off, and they both collapsed, panting in the snow.

“I had an idea,” Harry said after he drank deeply from the glass of water that Hermione had brought out after their session ended. “We should practice our aim.”

“You want to shoot clay pigeons.” Hermione nodded, knowing precisely where Harry’s train of thought was going.

“Exactly.” He passed the glass to Hermione and re-tied his hair into a ponytail as she took a long drink. “I thought that maybe we could find something we don’t really need – or I guess, something that we won’t care about if it gets destroyed. Someone can charm it in the air and move it around while the other shoots at it.”

“It’s a good idea, Harry,” Hermione said as she pulled herself up from the ground. She outstretched her hand, summoning her purse wordlessly and catching it firmly after it flew through the tent flap directly into her hand. “I’m sure we have something in here that we can use.”

“Perfect.” Harry rolled his neck and stood from the ground. He twirled Evan’s wand lightly in his fingers while he watched Hermione peer into her purse. “What do we have in the bag.”

“Well... for clay pigeons,” Hermione muttered as she rummaged around the purse. She figured that either old clothing or pillows might be the best bet. Then a small, humorous smile tugged at her lips when her eyes circled onto something of a brilliant orange colour. “What about theses?”

Hermione pulled out two brilliantly orange Chudley Canon socks and held them up to Harry. The expression on his face was priceless as he snorted and shook his head.

“Damn, I forgot about those horrid things – you know that Ron used to wear those constantly, right? Either he had a million pairs, or he just washed them every day.”

Hermione gave Harry a deadpanned look.

“Yes, you’re right – he probably has just that one pair, and he definitely wore them all the time without washing them,” Harry said, conceding easily as his nose crinkled at the idea. “I can’t believe you’re touching those.”

“Ew – Harry. Obviously I washed them before I packed them. I’m not stupid. I knew Ron had a habit of never washing his stuff. Actually,” Hermione said thoughtfully as she charmed the sock to float and raised it in the air. “I washed everyone’s stuff before I packed it.”

“Are you saying that you handled my unmentionables before we were together?” Harry feigned shock and took a step forward to aim his wand at the sock.

“Pfft, please,” Hermione scoffed as she made the sock wriggle around in the sky. Harry still managed to hit it on his first try with a stunning charm. “I both saw and handled your unmentionables plenty of times before we got together.”

“Wait, what? When?” Harry glanced at her and landed a second hit on the sock without much effort as it swirled around in the air above him.

“Harry, you arriving in the Hospital Wing was like – a regular yearly event. And sometimes, when you were passed out, you would turn over in your sleep, and your boxers would show if the blanket slipped down. I would pull it back up over you to protect your modesty. Then, there were the few times over the years where we met in your dorm room, and you were literally sitting on your bed in your boxers. And there are all the times that I helped tidy up around the Burrow and did laundry while you guys were out riding brooms.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry said, a fond smile crossing his face. “I’d forgotten about that. It feels like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it? Do you think Ron will be mad if I light his sock on fire?”

“I’m pretty sure that you would be doing him a favour,” she snorted, he was clearly itching to try incendio with Evan’s wand.

Mentally, she noted that this was the first time they had spoken outwardly about Ron. She was a bit surprised to realize that it didn’t feel awkward. Months ago, she would have been unsure of how the topic would go down given that Harry knew she briefly fancied him. But now, they were both so comfortable and confident with each other and their relationship, that discussing the missing third of the golden trio didn’t feel like anything.

It was just another topic. 

She loved Harry, he knew that, and he also knew that there wasn’t even an inkling of anything remotely close to feelings left in her body for Ron. To her, talking about Ron now felt rather similar to talking about the weather last year or muggle sports teams; it was just something that existed, but she didn’t really feel anything about it anymore.

“Besides, Ron’s not here so–“ Hermione paused and shrugged. “Worst case, if we ever see him again and he asks about the old socks, we can replace the stupid things.”

Harry blasted the sock, and it ignited brightly at the exact same moment that all of their wards and proximity alarms sounded. Hermione’s head swam at the noise; it sounded like a nuclear alarm blaring in her mind. The sensation was overwhelming, and she gritted her teeth in pain as she jumped to Harry’s side. 

He quickly dispelled the alarms as his hand closed tightly around hers, both of them lowering into a defensive crouch and turning toward the figure that had appeared just to their left. The burning sock crackled, flames blowing in the wind as it floated slowly to the ground.

It didn’t make any sense.

Nothing – no one – not a damn thing should have been able to apparate to their direct location because they were essentially unplottable. They were undetectable. Hermione’s mind raced as every muscle in her body tensed in preparation for a fight. They would need to capture the intruder and leave immediately. They needed to know how the hell they had been traced so that they could ensure that it didn’t happen again. 

A stunning spell was just leaving her wand as Harry’s hand tightened around hers, and her eyes widened – seeing what he did. At the very last second, she managed to pull her wand up, and the spell blasted over the top of the figure’s head, just grazing the fire-red hair as the burning Chudley Canon sock floated down before him.

“Bloody hell!! What was that for?!”

Ronald Weasley ducked. It was a delayed reaction and had Hermione not managed to pull her wand up at the last second, the spell would have hit him square in the face. She watched as the boy ran a hand through his hair, glancing curiously to the burning sock which was now resting by his feet before he turned his head up toward them.

“Hey,” he said sheepishly, giving them an awkward smile.

Warnings:

This chapter contains: disturbing concepts/ topics centered around the werewolf den operation.

******************************************

February 22, 1998

Northern Order safe house

“Arthur.”

Shacklebolt’s unmistakable deep voice drew his attention as he attempted to balance the collection of bodies that he was currently holding in his arms after apparating into the living room of the Order safe house. He had stood in a daze on the snowy hill for two long seconds more than he should have, his eyes looking into the darkness where Harry and Hermione had once stood before his brain finally snapped back on task and forced his body to move. He had collected the pieces of the werewolf from the snow and tightly grabbed the unconscious man’s wrist before leaving the frigid cold. The apparition was made a lot easier due to the feather-light charm that the pair had cast – but it was still difficult to hold all the pieces in his arms. 

“Kingsley,” Arthur breathed, snow falling from his hat onto the ground as the werewolf’s head slipped from under his elbow. It dropped to the floor with a thud, rolling through the slush and leaving a dark red trail until Shacklebolt jumped forward and grabbed it. “Shoot, sorry about that – I’ll clean that up.”

“What the – how did this happen?” Shacklebolt asked as he eyed the trail of blood that now covered the floor. He lifted the head before him and narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Who killed it?”

“No idea,” Arthur lied. He knew. Or at least he strongly suspected that he knew exactly who killed it. But he thought it was best not to dwell on the details at the moment, given the situation. There were more important things to attend to. “I didn’t even see them – they made the drop quickly per protocol and disapparated. Though, I think that’s best, no? Sometimes the less information we have, the better, especially when their safety is critical for success. We both know that Dumbledore left them with a secret mission.”

“True, but if we did know a little bit more, we might be able to help them out. It worries me that they are out there on their own with everything that’s going on. They could have been injured running into a creature like this… but there isn’t much we can do if we don’t know where they are,” Shacklebolt said slowly as he vanished the blood from the floor with a wave of his wand. He was the only other person that knew Harry and Hermione were involved in the incident, though his knowledge was limited to only what Arthur had disclosed. Everyone else would be under the impression that Thomas, their ally from the Ministry, had discovered the scene and dispatched the beast – and Thomas would maintain that story as well. Shacklebolt took a deep breath before he continued. “We’ve got a room set up – Nasir is in there now waiting.”

“Thanks,” Arthur said, motioning to the freshly cleaned floor with his head. He figured that Nasir must be the new Legilimens that Shacklebolt had vouched for, and he wondered what the man might be like. “What of the werewolf corpse – will Thomas be coming to collect it?”

“Yes, he should be here momentarily. A quick in and out – I told him that we would leave the body here in the living room so he can pick it up.”

“Of course,” Arthur said as he easily carried the weightless furry body into the center of the room and placed it next to the head that Shacklebolt had set down.

Only very few personnel had apparition rights into the small northern cottage that acted as a backup safe house. It was rarely used, mostly because the surrounding area was wild, rugged, and dangerous, but also because the cottage was so small. But it was perfect for impromptu interrogations, especially given that the Burrow was being watched and Grimmauld Place was compromised. Arthur grabbed the unconscious man’s wrist once more and followed Shacklebolt toward the small back room. There was no point in waiting for Thomas. He would only be there for a blink while he grabbed the body, time was of the essence, and he would need to get it back to the Ministry as quickly as possible.

“Arthur, let me introduce you to Nasir,” Shacklebolt said, stepping to the side as he gestured to the man on his right with a wide arm. “A friend from a previous lifetime of mine, before I was placed in a desk job. He was stationed in Bulgaria in ’95 to keep an eye on Karkaroff, and You Know Who’s followers. He’s been undercover there for the last three years – but after the loss of Dumbledore, I worked to pull him out. Good men are hard to find, and Nasir here is one of the best. He trained briefly with Severus in Legilimency before going undercover, so he is our only resource left.”

Arthur’s eyes fell on the man that stood before him. His tanned skin, dark eyes, and high cheekbones were far more attractive than what he had been expecting to find based on the introduction that Shacklebolt had just provided – almost uncomfortably so – as if someone had designed him to perfection. He stood straight as a board, tall, strong, and despite the slightly worn look of the man’s robes, they were neatly pressed. He was also young, somewhere in his thirties, and it somehow seemed unfitting of a man who had been deep undercover for the last three years in a country notoriously dangerous for its support of the dark arts. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Arthur said, extending his hand and noting the strength he felt in Nasir’s palm as he shook it. “I imagine that getting out of Bulgaria was a task and a half.”

“You could say that,” Shacklebolt chuckled. “But times are dire, Arthur, and we need reliable men.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Arthur breathed, aware that Nasir was watching him closely. It felt eerily similar to Snape’s gaze – always watching and picking up on all the little details that people tried to hide. If Nasir had been successful with a three-year undercover operation in Bulgaria, he was undoubtably talented. 

And dangerous.

“The pleasure is mine,” Nasir’s voice was rich, and the baritone filled the small room. He had a hint of an accent, but it was unplaceable as if gathered from many years of travelling across the globe. “I understand that you have been instrumental in the fight and that you’ve organized several successful missions thus far.”

“I’m sure that Kingsley has oversold me,” Arthur smiled politely, silently wondering just what information Shacklebolt had told the man before him. He trusted Shacklebolt. The man was discreet and understood the importance of secrecy, but meeting a new person and trusting them instantaneously was a difficult task. Their experience had not been the best over the years, and it was a feeling Arthur struggled to shake. “So, I assume you were an Auror with Kingsley, yes?”

“Not exactly,” Nasir replied smoothly, a small shimmer in his eyes. They lingered on Arthur’s briefly before they glanced down to the man he was holding. “This must be our guest. You’re looking for some particular memories, correct?”

“Yes.” Arthur’s brow furrowed slightly at the lack of response, but he pulled the unconscious man from the ground and easily plopped him in the open chair. “I’ve been told his name is Evan – and we need to know what he knows about a werewolf den in Birmingham.”

“A werewolf den,” Nasir said, arching an unemotional brow at Shacklebolt. It seemed that he had not been informed of what he was investigating. “I see. Well, I can certainly pull out what’s there. Do you want to keep the memories or just have me relay them?”

“Pull them, please, if you don’t mind,” Arthur interjected before Shacklebolt could give an opinion.

“Of course,” Nasir smiled politely, but the movement didn’t reach his eyes, and it looked unnatural.

He clearly picked up on the implication of Arthur’s response: Shacklebolt trusted him, but Arthur did not. With a flick of his wand, chains bound the unconscious man to the chair, and Nasir stepped before him, tapping Evan gently on the head and muttering a silencing spell before he woke their guest. The man’s eyes shot wide and darted around. He opened his mouth, attempting to communicate something, but the sound was inaudible from the silencing charm Nasir had cast.

“Good evening, Evan.” Nasir’s low deep voice stalled the movements of the man’s mouth, and he shuddered in his chair before meeting the man’s eyes. “I’m going to have to ask you to remain still. Otherwise, I will ensure that you cannot move at all, permanently. Do you understand?”

Evan blinked rapidly three times, confusion riddled his face, but he nodded once and settled in his chair.

“Good.” Nasir bent low, grabbing Evan’s jaw and tilting his head upwards before he muttered a single word. “Legilimens.”

Arthur watched as Evan’s eyes went wide. He jerked once in his chair as Nasir stared unblinkingly into his eyes, combing through weeks of memories and data. It was deadly silent for a single minute, then Nasir exhaled and dropped Evan’s jaw, straightening back to his full height and turning toward Arthur.

“I’ve located the memories that you’re looking for, but someone has already been in there. There is a chunk of time missing after the alley, and it can’t be explained by him being unconscious. It would be unnoticeable to most as the memory work was well done, but only an expert in memory modification knows how to extract a chunk of time and hide the loss.” Nasir paused and eyed Arthur. “What’s most curious, though, is that someone has burned the name Rose into this man’s mind. It is… inescapable while in there.”

“Are they capable of that, Arthur?” Shacklebolt asked, his face scrunching in concern.

“I’m not sure,” Arthur hesitated, not liking that Shacklebolt had made mention of a ‘they’ being involved. 

He did not want Nasir to be aware of anyone else but Thomas. Besides, something in his gut told him it was best to keep the recent changes he had witnessed in Harry and Hermione secret. It wasn’t a matter of trust – it was a matter of logic. If Harry and Hermione had developed new skills, it would be in their best interest to keep that information private so that they could use those skills as an element of surprise in the future. He had never been a fan of lying, but he also knew that intent was what mattered, and the bigger picture was more important. Shacklebolt would forgive him later if his knowledge of their skills or whereabouts was revealed. 

“Does it impact the memories we need?” Arthur asked.

“No.” Nasir continued to watch him unblinkingly, and Arthur started to feel like the man could tell that he was lying. Though thankfully, he refrained from commenting on it. “I was simply noting that it was curious since it seems to have been done with a significant amount of rage. If you have a flask, I can extract what you need and clean up his mind so he can be released.”

“Here,” Shacklebolt said, pulling a large glass vial from his cloak and handing it to Nasir.

“If you could-” Arthur cut in a second before Nasir made to extract the memories. The man’s dark eyes flicked from his wand back to Arthur, and he waited for him to make his request. “Ensure that the final memory was the last available one in the alley.”

Nasir nodded and turned back to his work.

A nagging thought pulled at the back of Arthur’s mind as he watched Nasir raise his wand. Thomas had told him in his initial report that the victim’s name was Rose. It was on the picture ID card that had been in her blood-soaked jacket, and it had been what Harry had told him in their communication as well.

It can’t be a coincidence, Arthur thought as the ball of nerves that had been growing in his stomach all night from the new information rolled over. They must have done it – they must have wanted to make sure he would never forget.

He knew that this Evan man would be killed by the Death Eaters once released, and it would probably happen within the next twenty-four hours. Yet despite this fact, despite knowing that it ultimately would not make any difference in the grand scheme of things, he could not help but want to ensure that their efforts endured. He wanted the name to remain for the last few hours of this pitiful man’s life the same way that Harry and Hermione clearly had. He clenched his jaw, then before he could think better of it, Arthur interrupted Nasir again.

“Sorry, and if you could,” Arthur said, and Nasir paused once more. His eyes seamlessly flicking back to Arthur as a single perfect brow arched in question. “Leave the name Rose.”

Nasir stood motionless; his eyes fixed on Arthur for several long seconds before he responded.

“Arthur, I do not think that it would be possible for Merlin himself to remove that name from this man’s mind.”

-x-x-

Reviewing through the memories that Nasir extracted had been upsetting. Disturbing. Disheartening. Arthur did not have the words to describe how the images made him feel, but what he did know was precisely where the werewolf den was located. Now, they needed to do something with that information. They needed to make it count and put a stop to the abominable practice and unnecessary deaths of countless muggles. 

He had released Evan to meet his death two hours outside of Birmingham center and then returned home, crawling carefully into bed next to Mrs. Weasley to grab just a few hours of sleep before waking for work. Had it not been a Sunday, they would have stayed and made a plan right away. But, unfortunately, maintaining their appearance in the everyday wizarding world was equally as important as any other aspect of the war.

So, he went to work, and he did his job. 

He ignored the comments and cruel requests made by the Death Eaters that had infiltrated the Ministry and kept his head down, all while trying to ignore the images that consumed his mind. Shacklebolt had agreed that they needed to shut down the werewolf operation as soon as possible. It would be critical to the success of the war since they would never be able to combat the forces of the growing army, and they could not allow any additional muggles to be attacked. Arthur told Mrs. Weasley about the situation, leaving out Harry and Hermione’s involvement and instead focusing on what would need to be done. Then he reached out to Remus, who agreed to meet with Shacklebolt again the following evening to discuss a plan. However, what he had not been anticipating was seeing Nasir by Shacklebolt’s right-hand side when he arrived the following night.

“Kingsley,” Arthur said with a nod before looking toward Nasir, who was standing both very still and very quietly. “May I have a word?”

“Of course.” Shacklebolt nodded and followed Arthur toward the back room. “Did Remus say he would be coming?”

“Yes, he should be here shortly,” Arthur said, maintaining his pleasant tone until they were inside the back room and he had shut the door. “You didn’t say that you were bringing Nasir back again – I thought he would only be assisting with the memory collection portion of this?”

Shacklebolt exhaled and shook his head. “Arthur, you know we don’t have enough people for this. We were barely keeping up with things before, and now we have to find a way to disband a werewolf operation. We need more people if we are to be successful.”

“How did you meet him?” Arthur asked, his voice flat and his eyes serious. “Never, not once throughout the entire duration that I’ve known you have you ever mentioned the man. Forgive me for seeming skeptical; I don’t mean to question your judgement Kingsley, but why are you involving him and why now?”

“Because we need more people, Arthur–”

“Please – don’t feed me crupshit and expect me to eat it,” Arthur retorted, cutting Shacklebolt off with a tight voice before his eyes softened and he exhaled deeply. “Kingsley, you know that I trust you. But we could have called in Andromeda or even Bill or Molly to help with this. I understood why we needed him to collect the memories as none of us had the skill – but why is he here tonight?”

“Because we will need him, Arthur,” Shacklebolt said slowly, rubbing a tired hand over his jaw. “He has a skill set that you and I don’t have, one that earned him a spot deep within the Unspeakables, in a sub-unit that isn’t spoken of. That’s how I met him – sending him undercover to Bulgaria was a joint department operation that we set up four years ago.”

“What skill set?” Arthur’s pulse had quickened at the mention of the Unspeakables.

They were a relic department in the Ministry leftover from darker days. They were a constant thorn in the side of the Ministry and a sore topic with the public. There had long since been petitions to have the group disbanded entirely, but it had never made any progress because the Unspeakables were deemed a requirement even though no one knew what they did. It was just widely accepted and understood that they handled a lot of the dark, nasty, and unpredictable aspects of magic and that their purpose was to protect, ensure safety, and resolve ‘issues’. Though the vagueness still sparked unease with many, so their recruitment had been drastically cut in an effort to cull their purpose in place of disbanding the group entirely.

It truly was a fitting name given that anyone who joined the department could never speak of their work or their life, and they often lost their name over time. Rarely did you even know who they were. It was common knowledge that these people were like ghosts, flitting in and out of reality, disappearing for years at a time only to return looking older or younger or exactly the same as if no time had passed at all. It was impossible to pin down their motivations, their loyalty, or their purpose – they were mysteries. Impossible to read, eerily silent figures that often came across as detached and robotic.

Thus, people were afraid of them because they were dangerous.

“Interrogation, surveillance, torture, sabotage – he is the invisible man that you send in when you need something done. His undercover work in Bulgaria over the last three years is the only reason why this war is not coming at us from both fronts,” Shacklebolt said grimly as his face grew serious. “What he did before Bulgaria, what the Unspeakables had him do, I honestly can’t say Arthur. But he saved my neck before he left. We can trust him.”

“Merlin,” Arthur sighed and closed his eyes. It was possible that ‘Nasir’ wasn’t even his name. It was possible that the man was older than himself or Shacklebolt, or that Shacklebolt had no idea who this man really was. “I hope you’re right.”

A small pop from the room behind them pulled both of their eyes to the door. Remus had arrived, and he would no doubt be wondering who the stranger in the living room was. Resigning himself to trust Shacklebolt for the time being and hoping that it did not come back to bite him later, Arthur followed Shacklebolt back out into the living room. Remus was standing several feet back from Nasir and looked a bit surprised.

“Remus.” Arthur forced a smile and approached him quickly. “Thank you for joining us – it is very much appreciated. How’s Tonks?”

“She’s well,” Remus said calmly, his eyes darting back to the unfamiliar face in the room. “I’m happy to help in any way that I can.”

“Remus,” Shacklebolt said, extending his arm and giving Remus a warm handshake. “Welcome, I’m glad you could make it. I would like you to meet Nasir – he will be helping us out in our upcoming efforts.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Remus said, offering his hand to Nasir, who took it with a polite nod. “Arthur mentioned that there was something urgent we needed to get started on – but given the situation, he thought it best to avoid putting too many details on paper. So, you’ll have to forgive me; I’m not fully aware of the situation yet.”

Arthur launched into an explanation of the situation as they all took a seat. He relayed the information that they had pulled from Evan, the whereabouts of the werewolf den, the ever-growing army of enslaved muggles, and the fact that bands were being used as some sort of control method. Remus’s expression was tight as Arthur shared the information that he had, but he noticed Nasir appeared calm, cool, and collected.

So much so, it was unnerving.

“How do the bands function?” Remus asked, the words coming out in a rasp.

Arthur’s heart softened at the sound. The poor man was probably having a rough time hearing the information. Being a werewolf himself, Remus’s life had been difficult, lonely, and filled with despair and prejudice. Though, that was exactly why Arthur wanted his help.

Aside from the obvious fact that Remus would have intel on werewolves and what to expect from a den learned from the spying he had done for Dumbledore, and how to approach the situation – he would also, more than possibly anyone else in the Order, be wholeheartedly invested in putting a stop to the operation.

“I’m not sure yet.” Arthur hesitated. “But I will have that information soon. It’s being looked at, and the individual completing the research has my full confidence.”

“Well, regardless of the banding, we need to develop a plan for infiltrating the den. We only have the resources to do this once, and when we strike it must be effective. Otherwise, they will move locations, and we will never find them again. We’ve been lucky to discover the information that we have, and we need to use it wisely,” Shacklebolt said as he looked between the men. “We also need to decide what to do with the muggle werewolves – assuming we are able to take any into custody.”

The room was quiet for a moment. Each man tight-lipped as none of them wanted to say what they all feared.

“It is highly unlikely that you will be able to save any of them,” Nasir said, his rich voice catching all three men’s attention. He was the first one to speak after the silence had filled the room, and he sounded entirely unbothered by his own words. “When the time comes to infiltrate the base, you will need to be prepared to kill them.”

“Unsurprising opinion coming from an Unspeakable,” Arthur breathed as Nasir continued to look at him with a flat stare. “We should at least prepare ourselves to take them in – have wolfsbane potion ready, supplies, and places for them to go.”

“The transformation on muggles is far more devastating than it is on wizards, Arthur,” Nasir said calmly. “Even once disbanded and unfrozen from their perpetual wolf state, assuming that we can do it, would you really want to leave these people to live out a life alone and in agonizing pain after what they’ve already been through?”

“I think that they should at least be given the choice.”

“He’s correct, Arthur,” Remus said, his voice sounding defeated. He dropped his head into his hands, and he spoke into his palms. “The transformation wears on muggles. They don’t properly heal from it in between each cycle the way that we do, as they lack the magic required to do so. As a result, it destroys their body over time, and they live short lives. They would be forced to live away from their families in a world that they don’t understand while slowly dying.”

He took a long pause before he lifted his head and looked around the room.

“That said,” Remus all but whispered. “I agree with Arthur. They should at least be given the choice. We cannot just walk in and slaughter them; they deserve better than that.”

Nasir flicked his eyes between the two men but remained silent.

“We can work to procure additional ingredients for wolfsbane potions,” Shacklebolt said with a sadness to his eyes. “We will be limited, though. If their numbers have grown to the extent you believe they have, Arthur, we cannot save them all.”

“So, what’s the next step them?” Remus asked, looking to Arthur and Shacklebolt.

“We need to verify the den location. The memories that Nasir pulled showing the location of the den are over two months old. We also need to get an idea of their traffic, numbers, and defences. This is critical for our success before we can launch an attack,” Shacklebolt replied.

“Once I receive additional information about the bands, we can use it and the information from our surveillance to develop a plan,” Arthur added.

Remus nodded. “How long?”

“I’m hoping to act within the next three weeks,” Arthur said, his statement receiving a raised brow from Shacklebolt.

“Arthur, we need time to complete a proper investigation of the location. I’m not sending anyone in until we are certain.”

“Yes, I understand that – but we also cannot waste time. They are preparing for something big, and we need to act before they do.”

“Potions aside, I can gather the intel that you require within eight days,” Nasir said as he eyed the exchange between Arthur and Shacklebolt closely. “After that, it’s up to you how long it is until we strike.”

“You’ll gather the intel?” Arthur stared at the man with surprise.

“I was, as you have so kindly pointed out, an Unspeakable,” Nasir said, though his empty voice didn’t sound pleased at all. “It is what I do. Having anyone else tag along would only delay your efforts and increase the likelihood of being caught.”

“Nasir offered after you left Sunday,” Shacklebolt said quietly. “I think it is best that we use his skill – and during that time, we can make preparations and preliminary plans. It will give us the best chance of saving any survivors that we find.”

“How do you intend to observe the den?” Remus asked, leaning forward on the table. “They will not only have wards but there will also likely be a watch. Werewolves have a keen sense of smell, and they will pick you up within a mile of that den. Not to mention the fact that they are underground – the echo from the muggle sewers will only aid their hearing.”

Nasir only stared at the man, blinking slowly before he finally responded. “It won’t be an issue.”

“I understand that as an Unspeakable, you’re used to secrets and working alone, but that isn’t how this Order works,” Arthur said firmly, his brow furrowing as he looked at Nasir. The tension in the room had started to grow between the men. “If you are going to help, then you need to be willing to work with us, together, as a team. Remus has information that can aid us. If you complete the surveillance alone and it goes poorly, we will not get a second chance.”

“I understand your apprehension, Arthur, and I am aware that you do not trust me – but I’m sure you appreciate that some information is better left unsaid as it could be detrimental to the bigger picture,” Nasir said as he gave Arthur a knowing look. Arthur felt his heart stutter and his chest tighten; it was like the man knew that he was withholding information of his own. “I am happy to work with Remus and get a better understanding of what to expect. But let me assure you that I am more than capable of completing the observation on my own. I am here of my own volition, Arthur. Despite what you may think, I have no other motivation, and I am not interested in getting myself or anyone else killed during this process.”

Arthur clenched his jaw. He hated being in this position. He didn’t want to be difficult, and he knew that they needed all the help that they could get. He desperately wanted to believe that Nasir was a good man who could be trusted and that he truly was here to help without any secret master plan, but it was incredibly difficult to allow himself to do it.

He had done it in the past. He had trusted Peter by the word of James. He had trusted Snape by the word of Dumbledore himself, and both times the results had been devastating. He eyed Shacklebolt with a wary look and then let out a heavy sigh.

“Fine, but we should meet nightly to discuss your findings,” Arthur conceded.

“Early mornings would be best. If the muggles are confined to werewolf form, they will be most active between 6 pm and 5 am,” Remus said, standing from his seat. “We should arrange to have a standing meeting each morning at 7 am to discuss the observations.”

“That’s a good idea.” Shacklebolt nodded, the tension in his shoulders subsiding a little as it seemed like the room may have finally reached an agreement. “Nasir – can meet us here tomorrow morning then?”

“I will be here at seven.” Nasir nodded before turning his attention back to Remus. “Would you mind answering a few questions that I have?”

“Of course,” Remus smiled, placing a gentle hand on Arthur’s shoulder and moving toward Nasir. “What would you like to know?”

-x-x-

He sat clutching the warm mug between his fingers. Despite it being well after 11:30 at night, he was having a coffee. He needed it. He felt drained. The hot steam curled off the surface of the milky liquid and filled the space between him and Remus. Mrs. Weasley was bustling in the kitchen with her own mug and would be seated shortly – but for now, he sat in silence, unsure of where to start.

“Who is looking at the bands?” Remus finally asked, his hands curling around his own steaming mug as Arthur gave a sigh. “I’m assuming you withheld that information because of Nasir. Or is this something that I too should not be made aware of?”

“It is a bit of a tricky situation,” Arthur replied as he met his gaze. “I don’t trust Nasir, but I’m afraid that this may indeed be one of those moments where the fewer people who know about it, the better. Though you know the individual well, and they are, without a doubt, exceptionally clever.”

Remus’s eyes widened a fraction, but he didn’t press for any additional information. He had either gotten the hint or not, but he wouldn’t ask for confirmation.

“I understand, Arthur,” Remus said. “Believe me. And I share your concerns about Nasir, but Kingsley seems to trust him, so I think we should too. At least until he gives us reason to doubt him. So far, he has been nothing but helpful, even if he is a bit detached.”

“Well, it’s not like we have much choice,” Arthur said, rubbing a hand over his weary face as his wife finally took a seat next to him. “I just hope that it doesn’t become our downfall – we can’t handle another blow.”

“How did Kingsley meet this man?” Mrs. Weasley asked, raising her tea toward her lips and blowing gently against it. “It’s odd that he hasn’t come up before now, don’t you think?”

“That is precisely what I said to him tonight,” Arthur sighed, taking a sip of his coffee and relishing in the taste as it rolled across his tongue. “Apparently, he was an Unspeakable – but Kingsley worked with him on a mission in Bulgaria to help stop the rise of You Know Who’s followers in the East.”

“Hmn.” Mrs. Weasley crinkled her nose in doubt. “I still don’t understand why he is the one collecting the information. For all we know he could be alerting them or setting up a trap that will devastate our forces. Shouldn’t someone have gone with him?”

“We discussed that,” Remus said softly, his eyes falling to Mrs. Weasley and sparing Arthur from having to recap the tense conversation they’d had only an hour ago. “Unfortunately, werewolves have a very keen sense of smell, excellent eyesight, and tremendous hearing. Between that and the wards that are no doubt surrounding the den, it’s risky to send too many people into the area. Additionally, Kingsley has assured us that Nasir possesses a unique set of skills that will allow him to spy undetected.”

“I’m sure.” Mrs. Weasley set her cup down and scowled. “I don’t trust it.”

“None of us are fond of the idea, Molly,” Arthur said over his mug. “But there isn’t much we can do – Kingsley was second in command after Dumbledore. He is technically in charge of the Order, and he trusts Nasir. We do need the help, and as Remus said, so far, he has helped.”

“I still think you should have gone with him.”

“Molly, Arthur is about as covert as an erumpent when it comes to surveillance,” Remus said. “His talent has always been in planning and secret-keeping, not spying. And I’m not any better.”

Arthur snorted into his coffee and gave Remus a soft smile. It felt strange to laugh. It was so lighthearted. So extremely distant and different from how he had been feeling over the past months but hearing Remus chuckle while Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes made the weight on his shoulders feel a bit lighter. A sad smile passed between them, a quiet moment of friendship as they both sipped their coffees.

“I guess we wait and see what happens tomorrow morning,” Arthur said. “Nasir left to go start his observations tonight.”

-x-x-

Black eyes circled the snowy ground. 

It was cold, the snow was deep, and the faint light from the evening had long since departed. Everything was quiet, and any small sound rang out harshly against the empty night as he passed silently through the wards that surrounded the Birmingham den. So far, after two hours of external observation, he had not witnessed any movement. Not a single indication that there was a den of vicious werewolves only a hundred feet away beneath the abandoned building before him.

The wards were thick and layered – someone far more talented than a lowly snatcher had cast these, and they encased the area around the den like a dense fog. The werewolves must exit the den over 600 feet out from its location, for he did not catch a glimpse of a single one. He would need to circle back around the following night to find and document their exits. They must be blocked off before the strike took place, so they would need to herd them back to the center so that the attack was both effective and swift.

The abandoned building was laced heavily with silencing charms, withholding the screams and growls that radiated from deep underground. There were only two guards. They moved in a constant circle, patrolling the perimeter as pairs – a human and a werewolf, the golden bands glinting against the snow as the beasts walked robotically at their owner’s heel. It was a strange sight to see and one that would unsettle many. But he slipped by them unnoticed, black against the black sky and soundless in his movements.

Entering the building was easy. 

No one had bothered to patch any of the damaged and broken windows on the top story – why would they? The wards were supposed to have been effective after all. It was always when you became overly confident in your own abilities and the strength of your army that you left yourself most vulnerable. It was a common flaw he had seen countless times before, one he had anticipated and one that he had planned to exploit from the moment he left the safe house.

The second he entered the building, the silencing charms became ineffective – having only been placed on the outside of the building to keep the sound contained. Pained screams echoed through his ears as he made his way down, deeper, through the abandoned floors and under the ground. He carefully captured every detail, every smell, and every noise as he memorized the layout.

The base was deep. It extended approximately four floors underground – two were pre-existing, but the deepest two were freshly dug, extended and held up by magic. Most of the rooms seemed to be unused, save for two large, round, deep holding pits. From the look and smell of it, it was where the werewolves were kept when they were not being used. At the time, though, only two were in the largest pen, and they were asleep. They looked thin, mangey, and worn – like they were held together by feeble stitching, and they might fall apart at any moment.

They had been left there to die and would be served up as food to the healthier ones.

Unlike the members of the Order, he was familiar with the deepest, darkest, and most disturbing traits of humanity. He knew that you could not house or feed so many creatures without significant effort – so why waste the meat that they already had? If they were dying at a regular rate from being muggle, it was the logical thing to do. He didn’t need to see the pile of bones in the corner to know that he was right, and it was just another reason why death would be the greatest gift you could give these creatures. Though it would also make it impossible for them to determine just how many lives had been lost over the course of the operation.

As he pressed his way forward, the screams began to grow. Unsurprisingly, he came across several small rooms, one of which appeared to be holding four muggles – no doubt recently collected. Three seemed resigned to their fate and were huddled against the wall, knees tucked under their chin, eyes downcast while trying to become as small as they physically could. One was screaming wretchedly. Her cries tore from her throat like broken glass as she pounded on the door, refusing to be quieted.

He moved past them, for there was still more to see, his slow and silent movements completely unnoticed in the dim lighting.

At the end of a long dirt hall, there was a room. It was open and quiet and seemed to be a makeshift laboratory. Odd pieces of muggle equipment had been brought in and set up. There was a medical table in the center, and a workbench that contained an assortment of papers, notebooks, maps, and cauldrons simmering over low flames. The wall was covered with a rather large map. It had several dots and circles – perhaps illustrating the locations in which they were raiding.

It seemed that this was the room where it happened. Opened and unused bands covered a table against the left most wall, and a row of large syringes lay next to them.

Injections.

Of course.

It would be the only way to ensure a stable infection, to prevent the muggles from dying from the trauma of the bite. Though even then, there would have been losses as many muggles rejected the lycanthropy disease. But that only meant more food for the successful subjects. Rows of vials sat upon a shelf – filled with a clear liquid, already prepared for use. Efficient and expected. Most of the room looked organized, yet the syringes and medical gear were unhygienic. He doubted that they bothered to clean them in between injections.

His timer sounded in his head, and he retreated from the room, making the slow and steady journey past the holding rooms, past the dens, and back up through the decrepit building. He would need to return several more times to map their movements and numbers. He needed to create a pattern and predict their actions to optimize their attack. But for now, he must return to the cottage and relay his observations. So he crept through the small broken window and fluttered silently into the cold night air.

AN:

You have been on this journey with Hermione and Harry since the beginning, experiencing it and changing with them as they go. But for them, it has been seven long, hard months since they have seen anyone – during which time they have faced many dangers, grown paranoid, and become somewhat codependent. Please keep this in mind while reading this chapter. Their reaction to Ron may feel extreme, but I am not writing this maliciously and there is intent behind each action. It will take time for Ron to grow and mature, just as it will take time for Hermione and Harry to readjust to the rest of the world and human interaction – but hope is never lost.

**********************************************

If Ron had been expecting a triumphant return or a warm welcome, he was sorely mistaken.

Harry and Hermione stood rigid in front of him, eyes cold, wands pointed directly at his chest as they took in his presence without a word. Harry watched as the awkward smile on Ron’s lips became unsure. It seemed that the redhead had finally taken note of their defensive crouched position, locked hands, and the deafening silence which surrounded them. He began looking between the two of them nervously, biting his lip as the tension grew uncomfortable. Then, Harry’s instincts kicked in, and he raised his wand higher to aim at Ron’s face.

“What did Dumbledore leave you in his will?” Harry asked.

Based on behaviour alone – Ron’s slow reaction to Hermione’s spell, his language usage, and general mannerisms – Harry was ninety-nine percent sure that this boy was indeed Ronald Weasley. However, given the circumstances and their track record of bad luck, he had no intentions of messing around.

“W-What?” Ron stuttered. His eyes grew wider at the question, and Harry saw his shoulders square defensively. “Harry, it’s me. I–”

“Answer the question, Ron, or you’ll wake up tethered to that rock,” Harry said dangerously, and Ron froze at the sound.

“His deluminator,” Ron responded, the words a low whisper as confusion started to form on his face.

It was a starting point, but unfortunately for Ron, at least one other person knew about that gift. Harry wracked his brain. It was difficult to know what to ask when someone could have used legilimency to comb through Ron’s thoughts and steal his memories. He quickly sorted through of list of questions; then his mind circled onto a better test question.

“What did you see in the mirror of Erised?” Harry asked. This he knew for a fact was something that only Ron would know as Ron had been too embarrassed and insecure to tell anyone else about it. So, if he answered correctly, it was Ron. Or perhaps still a very convincing and well-researched imposter, Harry’s skeptical brain reasoned.

“I saw myself,” Ron said slowly, a growing look of unease settling over his face as he eyed Harry’s wand warily and continued to flick his gaze toward their intertwined hands. It was abundantly clear that this was not going as Ron had expected, but Harry didn’t care. Right now, this wasn’t about Ron, it was about their safety, and if Ron cared about them at all, he would understand their hesitation and answer the questions. “I was Quidditch captain and Head Boy.”

Harry tilted his head in a slow single nod then lowered his wand a fraction, but Hermione did not. Instead, she flicked her wand, and a diagnostic bubble appeared beside Ron as he stumbled to the side in surprise.

“Woah, what are you–”

“Don’t move,” Hermione cut him off, her voice emotionless and cold. It was a command, and Ron froze once more, a deep frown forming on his face as he watched Hermione examine the bubble and then slowly lower her own wand.

“It’s him,” she said to Harry, and he finally allowed their hands to fall apart between them.

“Well, of course it’s me,” Ron said somewhat indignantly as he took a step forward, and Hermione instinctively inched back. Harry was fairly sure that she didn’t even realize that she had moved, but Ron noticed it, and his visible discomfort grew.

“You could have been anyone,” Hermione corrected, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she looked at Ron. “How did you get here?”

“I apparated,” Ron said as the confusion continued to circle on his face. He bit his lip nervously again. He was gauging them, and his brain didn’t seem able to process what he saw as a line of worry formed between his brows.

“Obviously,” Hermione said dryly. “I want to know how? How did you apparate here?”

“With Dumbledore’s deluminator,” Ron said, reaching to pull it from his jacket pocket and quickly slowing when both Hermione and Harry instinctively flinched before him. It hadn’t been intentional, it just happened, and Ron’s eyes widened further. Then, he carefully and slowly pulled the device from his pocket. As he held it up, he spoke his next words in a pained and soft voice. “I was only going to show it to you – here.”

He held out the device as if reaching toward a wounded animal. Hand outstretched from where his body remained, careful not to encroach on their space any further – instead, giving them a choice to reach forward and take it on their own.

For the first time since his arrival, Harry wondered what they must look like to the redhead. This had been his best friend – his first friend. The boy who had welcomed him into his family, taught him about Quidditch, followed him into the Chamber of Secrets, and numerous other dangerous situations. He had helped Harry form a life within the wizarding world. And yet, he couldn’t help but recoil from the boy and eye him with caution. He had hardly thought about Ron for the last few months, but now it was painfully obvious as he stared at the boy – he didn’t trust him. Not at all. More than that, Harry felt nothing but suspicion and anxiety as he glanced down to the silver device presented before him and quickly took it from Ron’s open palm.

It had been seven months. 

Seven long unbearable months since they had seen anyone let alone the boy who had abandoned them in a fit of rage. Seven months since they had heard his voice, seen his face, or had to interact with another human being outside of letters to Arthur Weasley – which wasn’t even close to the same thing. 

Seven months and Harry had written Ron off ages ago.

To him, it felt like a lifetime had passed. Ron looked so unchanged, and yet Harry felt like he had somehow aged three decades. Staring at Ron was like looking into a long-forgotten past that had been overshadowed by pain, violence, and endless hardships. This was more than a clash of timelines; it was a clash of worlds, and it was impossible to reconcile.

Harry had already dealt with the anger and the heartbreak of Ron’s departure. He had already gotten over the frustration of losing his best friend, and he had moved on. He’d had to. They’d had no choice. They hadn’t had the luxury of being able to sulk around and wait around for him to return when he had been the one who decided to leave. Ron had known what was at stake when he left, and it wasn’t as if he and Hermione had chased him away.

And yet, unbelievably, here they all stood – together once more. 

Ron had inexplicably shown up out of nowhere, intruding on them, all while trying to act as if nothing had changed. It was absurd to think that a friendly ‘Hey’ was the appropriate greeting after such time. It was ridiculous to think that Ron had thought that it was a good idea to come back at all. It was so absurd that Harry struggled to figure out what to say as he stared at the boy who looked the same as the day he had left, and he felt nothing.

Not a single thing.

Whether it was heartless or not, the truth was, Harry really didn’t care what they looked like to him. He didn’t care that Ron looked uncomfortable, that his awkward smile had faded to be replaced with a wary expression, or that he was approaching them in the same manner that one would address a dangerous creature. If anything, it was probably for the best that Ron appeared to be stunned into some kind of calm and unsure stupor at their new appearance, because it was delaying the inevitable dramatic explosion that he knew would happen once Ron inevitably went back to being ‘Ron’.

In less than a minute, Harry had already seen the signs. 

Ron’s eyes kept flicking to their joined hands. He had been annoyed that they wanted to confirm his identity. He didn’t understand their concern over his arrival, and he would no doubt notice the changes to the tent and the changes in their behaviour. It was only a matter of time before Ron stopped being nervous, and his temper got the better of him. His hesitant demeanour would fail, and he would explode into a fit, making accusations and demanding answers to questions that he had no right to ask – acting as if they owed him the same trust and loyalty that he had received during the summer. 

Perhaps Harry had become too pessimistic. Perhaps he shouldn’t assume to know the boy who stood before him, but it was hard to doubt his instinct after seven years of evidence that suggested Ron had yet to grow up.

Harry bit down a snort at the thoughts – as if he or Hermione owed Ron anything after what he had done. Harry dropped his gaze and turned the deluminator over in his hand, examining it closely. It looked the same as before, and he knew in his heart that this boy was Ronald Weasley. 

Yet, he didn’t really know what to do with that fact.

“How did it work?” Harry asked, unable to come up with anything else to say as his eyes lifted to meet Ron’s gaze once more.

“I heard your voices,” Ron said slowly, almost hesitantly. “Both of you said my name. I had been trying to find you two for the last two weeks, popping in and out of Shell Cottage – so when I heard it coming from the deluminator, I clicked it. It was the first time I’d heard any noise coming from it – I didn’t even know that was something it could do. But the light in my room went out, and another one appeared just outside my window. I grabbed my backpack and went out to look at it, and it had that sort of pulsing light like you get around a port key, you know?”

Harry inclined his head almost imperceptibly, but Hermione stayed silent. Ron’s new attempt at a faint smile fell, and he cleared his throat before he continued a bit more awkwardly.

“I uh, well, I approached the light, and it sort of floated into my chest. I know it sounds unbelievable, but I knew at that moment that if I disapparated, I would be brought to you guys – so I did, and that’s how I got here.”

“You disapparated,” Hermione said, her voice emotionless as her eyes traced over Ron’s face.

“Yes.”

“After you looked for us for two weeks,” she said flatly, and even though her voice held no inflection, Harry instinctively grabbed her hand to calm her down. She was livid, and Ron was lucky that she hadn’t hexed his balls off already.

“Er, yes.” Ron started to look anxious again, and he rubbed the back of head nervously. The quick and unexpected motion sent another involuntarily jolt through the duo, and Ron’s expression became tight as he halted his movements. “It’s a little chilly out here – maybe we could go talk inside the tent, we could catch up.”

Stupid, Harry thought as Hermione’s grip began to crush his hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hermione said, her voice dripping with acid as her eyes narrowed once more. “Is it too cold out here for you?”

“Uh-hh, no.” Ron looked even more distressed. “I just thought it might be a bit more comfortable.”

A slow moment passed, and then Harry felt Hermione drop his hand. She snatched her purse out of the air as it flew toward her soundlessly, then she turned sharply to retreat into the tent. He watched Ron’s expression as she disappeared inside.

“So, erm, are we going inside then?” Ron asked awkwardly. Several slow seconds passed between them until Harry finally spoke.

“After you.” Harry gestured out with his hand, though there was no invitation in his voice. He remained unmoving, waiting for Ron to go first as there was no way he would turn his back to anyone but Hermione anymore. It wasn’t worth it.

“Okay,” Ron breathed, taking a nervous step past Harry and walking toward the tent.

When they entered, Hermione was leaning against the kitchen table next to her opened purse facing the door. Her arms were crossed protectively over her chest as her hand gripped her wand tightly. She looked angry, and her eyes immediately locked back on to Ron.

“Why now?” She asked, not waiting for Ron to drop his bag on the ground or remove his jacket.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked, removing his jacket slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. Harry did not bother taking his off and instead stood at an angle off the side – placing himself close to Hermione but slightly in front so he could monitor both of their faces. Out of the two of them, he knew that she would be the most likely to lose her temper when it came to Ron.

“I mean, it’s been seven fucking months. Why were you looking for us for the last two weeks? Why come back at all now?” Hermione asked, her harsh question exactly capturing what Harry had been wondering himself.

Why the hell had Ron come back now? 

If it was purely because this was the first time he could find them, then that would at least make a small amount of sense. As far as Harry could remember, he and Hermione had not mentioned Ron’s name since he left until today. Or at least, today had been the first time that they had spoken about Ron outwardly without anger, hatred or some other form of misgivings – so perhaps that was tied to how the deluminator worked. But if that was the case, why the hell did he specifically say that he was looking for them the last two weeks? Why mention that at all? And better yet, as Hermione had asked, why did he even want to come back after so much time away?

“I spoke to my dad a bit ago,” Ron said, biting his lip nervously and twisting his hands in front of him. “He uh, sort of talked some sense into me about how I had been acting. So I started trying to look.”

“So, you waited seven months – then felt bad when your dad what, called you out on it? Then you started looking for us in March?”

“It wasn’t the first time that I looked for you, Hermione,” Ron said tightly. “I regretted leaving the second I did!”

“Then why not come back then?” Harry asked, crossing his arms over his chest but keeping his expression carefully blank.

“I wanted to.” Ron’s voice was starting to become a bit desperate as he glanced between the two of them once more. “But I apparated into London when I left and ran into some snatchers. I lied to them about who I was and managed to get away – they weren’t too bright. I think one of them may have been part troll from the smell.”

Harry very nearly outwardly cringed. 

If Ron thought an attempt at humour was wise in a moment like this, he was even more of an idiot than Harry had remembered. Hermione glared at him like stone, and Harry’s own face faltered into one of irritation as he watched Ron’s brow furrow once more.

“Anyways, they started arguing – they had my wand see, but I managed to hit the one holding me while they were distracted, stole his wand, disarmed the man holding mine to get it back and then apparated away. I splinched myself in the process,” Ron said, holding up his hand as evidence, and Harry noted the two missing fingernails. He couldn’t stop the frown that began to cross his face. “By the time I got back to the riverbank that we had been camped on, you two were gone, and I couldn’t find you.”

“How terrible that must have been for you,” Hermione said, the hint of sarcasm in her voice not going unmissed by Ron.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Ron said, taking a small step towards her but stopping when she leaned back, and Harry inched closer to her side. “Bloody hell–”

Ron groaned and ran a hand through his hair.

“You guys are behaving like I might attack you any second,” Ron said, his voice sounding strained with hurt as he looked between them desperately.

“Maybe that’s because we have been attacked nearly every second,” Harry said dryly, his annoyance starting to grow. But Ron was the one to lose his temper first.

“Merlin’s beard – you guys aren’t the only ones who’ve been attacked, you know? I know what it’s like out there!” Ron said, his agitation visibly starting to grow as he raised his voice and shot Harry a glare. “I’m sorry that I left – I wish that I hadn’t, but I do know that things haven’t been easy out there.”

“Yes, I can imagine that life at Shell Cottage must have been so trying,” Hermione countered, her voice becoming caustic. She looked about two seconds away from hexing Ron into oblivion. “What with your missing fingernails and all, it’s a wonder that you survived.”

“I’m sorry,” Ron practically yelled, his voice echoing out through the tent as his temper rapidly got the better of him. “I’ve already said it! How many more times do you need to hear it? I’m sorry! I’m sorry that I left – if I could take it back, I would, but I can’t!”

“Well, I’m glad that you’re sorry, Ron,” Hermione said stiffly, her eye twitching as she continued to stare at him and fight to keep her anger in check. “It shows that at least some part of you understands that what you did was–”

“WHAT I DID WAS WRONG!” Ron bellowed, his face red with anger as his desperate eyes swept between them, pleading to them, begging them for the forgiveness he so desperately sought. “I GET IT! You’re angry. I get it! Look, I’ve already apologized. I said I was sorry! What more do you want from me?!”

Hermione’s eyes went dark.

Her shoulders stiffened, and she slowly stood from her leaned position against the table, staring Ron down as if he were the mud on her boots. Harry’s hand twitched on his wand. While he was right there alongside Hermione in her disgust and burning rage, the last thing that they needed was a dead Weasley in the tent. He didn’t feel like putting in the effort to dispose of the body, so he was prepared to disarm her if necessary. Though really, it would do little to prevent her from attacking Ron if she wanted to. They had far surpassed the need to hold a wand or speak anything to wield deadly magic, and she could easily shred him to pieces without blinking an eye if she wanted to.

“I didn’t say that what you did was wrong, Ronald Weasley,” Hermione whispered. Her voice was venom as she spoke, and Ron quieted under her stare, the anger and colour quickly draining from his face as his expression filled with fear.

Harry watched in wait.

It was the first time since Ron had apparated into their campsite as if nothing had changed and like nothing had happened between them that he was finally looking at Hermione. He finally saw who she really was, what she had become while he was gone, and that she had entirely changed. He could see the darkness that she carried in the depths of her eyes and the stone-cold precision of her body as it moved. A shudder ran through Ron’s lanky frame as she stepped closer to him, and it became clear that he was afraid.

“Choosing to save your own neck above others isn’t wrong. It’s cowardly. What you did was selfish and poorly thought out,” Hermione spat the words like daggers, but she hadn’t raised her voice a decibel. “What you did, broke our trust. You shattered the very bones of our friendship. You damaged the binds that have kept us together all these years – after everything that we’ve been through – you abandoned us, Ronald. We agreed to fight this war together. We promised that we would help until the end. Did you think that you could escape it by just leaving?”

Ron audibly gulped as Hermione took a second step toward him, and Harry saw the visible shake in the boy’s back leg as she closed the space between them.

“You don’t get to waltz in here after seven months and pretend like nothing happened. You don’t get to be angry with us because you were hoping that everything could go back to how it was because you’re sorry. You lost that right when you chose to walk away, when you chose to save your own neck because things got too hard – because you wanted to bow out of this war. You don’t just get that back – it’s a privilege that is earned! You want to stay and help? Fine. I’m not stupid enough to turn down assistance when it’s offered because we need all the help we can get, but I will not tolerate you getting in our way either. I will remove you from this tent if you so much as hint at fucking up again, and this time, it will be permanent. And – don’t – you – dare – think for a second that you showing up changes what you did, or that it makes up for anything!”

She paused, looking him over from head to toe, nose crinkled in disgust as she brought her eyes back up to his and fixed him with a lethal look.

“We are not friends, Ronald. That ship has sailed. This is real life – you don’t get a free pass after what you did. You want to be friends again? You earn it.”

-x-x-

To say that things in the tent were tense would have been a massive understatement. It would have been like calling the Quidditch World Cup a small backyard gathering or saying that a dragon was no more dangerous than a flobberworm. Yet despite this, and beyond any reason that Harry could possibly comprehend – Ron stayed. 

He suspected it was largely because he was too embarrassed to return home for yet a second time and that he had nowhere else to go. Or maybe, it was because Hermione’s words had stunned him into an even deeper trance that caused him to become silent and shaky for the rest of the evening. Or, perhaps the most likely reason was that deep down, Ron still thought that given enough time, things would gradually return to normal and that Hermione’s speech was just an angry outburst at his initial return.

If this was indeed the case for him staying, which Harry highly suspected it was, Ron would be waiting indefinitely for Hermione to ‘calm down’. He also suspected that Ron did not truly understand what Hermione meant when she said she would remove him ‘permanently’ from the tent. Otherwise, he probably would have left.

After Hermione had all but physically destroyed Ron, she retreated to the potions lab to go through their medical supplies – for an unnecessary fourth time – but Harry knew it was because she couldn’t stand to look at Ron, let alone engage with him further. She was angry and annoyed and no doubt panicking. His return had not been a part of their plan, and now she was most definitely adjusting their schedule and checking their overall supplies as well.

Ron’s eyes shifted nervously around the tent, taking in the changes and modifications that they had made with raised eyebrows, but thankfully, no comments. Harry stood quietly, watching him. He had nothing to add to what Hermione had said and was united with her in solidarity. When Ron gave him an awkward smile and Harry gave him nothing in return, it finally seemed like Ron started to understand that the opinion was shared between the two of them and that Harry would not be dishing out forgiveness as easily as he had in the past.

After five excruciatingly long and silent minutes, Ron finally spoke to Harry in a hushed voice, asking what happened to his bed.

“We needed a lab,” Harry replied, and then he decided to avoid the next question. “Take Hermione’s old bunk.”

Ron nodded nervously and brought his bag over to the bed, placing it at the foot and pulling out a few small items.

“Did you bring any food or supplies?” Harry asked, hoping to Merlin the boy was at least smart enough to come prepared.

“Uh – er, no. I – I only have a few snacks.”

The quiet snort from Hermione in the lab did not go unnoticed as Harry sighed and Ron’s ears flushed pink.

“I’ll start dinner,” Harry said as he finally moved, going to collect the purse from Hermione and taking off his jacket.

Dinner was uncomfortable. 

Harry exchanged his usual seat for the one next to Hermione, and they all ate in silence. Neither he nor Hermione felt comfortable discussing their plans or their progress with Ron. The reality was, they did not trust him. He was a flight risk and, therefore, a security risk. If they told him anything new and he left again, there would be no guarantee that he wouldn’t be captured and tortured for information. It was a risk they weren’t willing to take, and one that they didn’t even need to openly discuss – a single glance between them, and they had both silently agreed. 

Frankly, it was a miracle that Ron hadn’t already inadvertently ruined their efforts with what he did know. The only reason Ron had not been captured so far was that he hid in the safety of Shell Cottage since September. So, as they all ate in silence, Harry began to wonder how Ron’s return would impact their plans – though the discussion would need to wait until he and Hermione could speak privately.

“We train at 7 am,” Harry said to Ron when he had finished chewing his last bite.

“Okay,” Ron said, nodding slowly and watching Hermione nervously as she collected the plates and avoided his gaze.

Then the tent returned to its awkward silence once more as Harry picked up a book and Hermione went back to the lab. Ron, who seemed to have no idea what to do with himself and Harry felt no desire to instruct him, fiddled aimlessly with his bag until he finally settled down with a book. Harry knew that he wasn’t actually reading it. He didn’t turn a single page in the three hours that they all sat in silence after dinner.

“I’ll take first watch,” Hermione said tightly after the evening had grown late and she finally exited the lab. She gave Harry a quick look before she pulled on her coat and trudged out of the tent – they would talk later.

Harry nodded, and Ron followed suit in an attempt to look agreeable, even though he had no idea that this was not the typical procedure for them anymore. They didn’t need a night watch. They’d given it up ages ago. The wards were sound, and since no one else on the planet had a deluminator, there would be no other unexpected guests. However, they refused to leave Ron’ unattended’ in case he got too uncomfortable and decided to bolt again, and they certainly weren’t going to trust him to take a night shift. Harry had nodded stiffly when Ron had offered, but he had zero intentions of taking the redhead up on the offer. Besides, they weren’t comfortable with the idea of them both being asleep with him there because they weren’t even comfortable with his presence while they were awake.

Harry didn’t need to talk to Hermione to know that. He could feel it in her body language and had confirmed it from the small-agitated glances she had sent him throughout the evening.

Thus, re-establishing a night watch was really the only thing to do that resolved all their issues.

When 3 am finally arrived, Harry silently left his bunk and scowled at the snoring sounds that Ron was making before he pulled on his jacket and went to relieve Hermione. His attempts at getting sleep had been futile. It was entirely impossible to doze off without Hermione at his side. His nerves were on edge from every sound that Ron made, and his thoughts were racing. So instead, he had spent the last few hours thinking and critically analyzing their new situation.

He knew that Hermione was doing the same just outside the tent as she maintained the completely unnecessary night watch, and this was the reason why he had stayed in bed instead of rushing outside the second Ron fell asleep. She needed time to think on her own. She needed to analyze, plan, examine, and reconsider their options the same way he had been. It was how they worked and why they had been so effective for the last seven months. They researched and thought, then discussed their findings together once they were ready and organized. 

Ron’s return was no different than any other problem that they had encountered thus far. So, naturally, they both went about it as they usually would.

“Hey,” he said quietly, placing his hand on her shoulder and giving her a light squeeze.

“Hey,” she whispered. She scooted over on the rock she had collected for a stool, and Harry sat down beside her. “Did you sleep?”

“No.”

“I don’t think I will either,” she sighed, her voice so light it was barely audible against the wind.

“I know.”

“Harry, this is bad – no matter how many times I’ve gone over it in my head, the result is not good. We don’t have enough food or supplies. I didn’t factor this in. He’s untrained too – he won’t be able to keep up, and he’s going to be a constant flight risk. Telling him any information is completely out of the question because we can’t trust him to stay. He already left once.”

“I know,” Harry said again, this time with a deep sigh. He dropped his head into his hands. She was hitting every single worry that had been running through his head the last few hours, and she appeared to have drawn the same conclusions. “If he stays, we’ll have to head further South back into risky territory so that we can collect more food.”

She nodded. For the last several weeks, they had been living conservatively off their grocery stores as they had all but run out of money. They’d been supplementing meals with food they managed to scrounge up in the Northern woods and from the ocean.

“We can’t function with no sleep either – this is going to catch up to us eventually, Harry,” she whispered.

“Yeah, I thought of that too. But I can’t sleep without you there and, frankly, I don’t even think it’s worth trying to. We already know it won’t happen, so it would just be a waste of time and will result in us being dead tired. It’s not like I want to hide anything, I don’t care what he thinks, but I don’t want to deal with him freaking out and exploding either – he’ll just bail again, and who knows where he’ll go. Maybe we can ward his bed? Something to alert us if he moves so we can still get some rest.”

“Maybe,” she said slowly, pulling the collar of her jacket up against the wind. “We can’t go to Xenophilius’s.”

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. He had figured she would say that, but he disagreed. “We have to go, Hermione, and we’re not going to delay it. If we do, we will be exhausted, tired, and even lower on resources. It will put us even more at risk than we are now. The longer that he’s here, the more comfortable he’ll get. This shocked stupor thing that he’s in will wear off. Right now, he’s really nervous about us and is more likely to listen without blowing up or self-imploding in pity when he realizes that we don’t need him here and that his presence is largely a handicap. We can take advantage of that – we’ll go to Xenophilus’s, but he stays here.”

“You seriously think he will agree to stay behind?” Hermione turned to look at Harry with her eyebrow arched. “Do you actually want to leave him unattended or with our tent and supplies?”

“No – but we could always stun him, maybe stuff him in your purse.”

Hermione snorted and leaned her head against Harry’s arm. “We could always bring him and leave him as a lookout? I agree with what you said about him being nervous. I think he’s more likely to accept that role now than later. Or we tell him that we operate on an ‘every man for himself’ philosophy – that if he doesn’t keep up, we’ll leave him behind.”

“Would you be able to do it, though?” Harry asked, his breath ghosting across the skin of her forehead as he turned to look at her. “Leave him there? I know you’re mad – we’re on the same page on that front, Hermione, but would you be able to leave him to die?”

“I don’t know,” she said slowly, and Harry could hear the trust in her voice. It was mixed in with her turmoil. She knew that he would not judge her regardless of whatever her response was. He hadn’t asked the question to act as a moral prude whose goal was to shame her into realizing that all life was equally important or sacred. It had been a genuine question out of interest. “Maybe – maybe not. I’m angry about him returning with no supplies and acting as if nothing has changed. The whole idea of him thinking that he can just show up after seven months is ludicrous. I’m honestly still not sure why he even came back at all. But – he isn’t an evil person – and he doesn’t deserve to die. He’s just an idiot who hasn’t grown up at all. He was too immature to handle this before, and now things are even worse. Though really Harry, could we afford to leave him behind at this point? He knows about the Horcruxes. He knows so much about us and Dumbledore’s plans. It was fine when he was safe with the Weasley’s, but if he was captured now, it would be devastating to our efforts. And if he leaves us again, I doubt he’ll go back to Shell Cottage because he’ll be too embarrassed.”

“I know.” Harry kissed the top of her head lightly. “The purse idea is starting to sound pretty good right now, isn’t it?”

Hermione snorted again before she turned her head to capture Harry’s lips, her heart aching as she tried to pull him closer, and his hand slid around her waist. He moved his mouth against hers slowly, lovingly, as the cold wind whisked across their skin and the stars shone brightly against the black sky. Her eyes had fluttered closed, and she opened her mouth wider as his tongue gently slid over hers. It eased her heart, her mind, her soul – and when they finally broke apart, she felt like she could breathe again.

“Let’s see how training goes tomorrow,” Harry said quietly against her lips. “But one way or another, we stick to the plan – we’re going to Xenophilius’s the following day.”

-x-x-

Training the next day did not go well.

Well, it did from Hermione and Harry’s perspective. Despite the fact that she did not sleep the entire previous night, she rose from bed at 6:30 am and pulled Harry in from his watch to eat breakfast with her. Ron continued to snore, so they ate without him, and then they began their physical workout in the living room at 7 am on the dot. They managed to increase their reps by another count and completed a second round of burpees just because. 

Ron remained asleep when they headed outside to begin their duelling practice, and Harry nodded in agreement when Hermione warded the potion lab and the desk area before they left the tent so that he would not be able to touch anything. Then, after spending several minutes confirming their plan, they began a harsh round of training.

At precisely 11 am, Hermione rolled through the freezing wet snow, prepared to pop up and send a leg locker at Harry when movement in the right corner of her eyes caught her attention, and her body reacted on instinct. She hurled two stunning spells and a leg locker in quick succession only to watch as Ron fell to the ground unconscious by the tent’s entrance. With a groan of annoyance, she rolled her eyes and pulled herself up off the ground. Then she flicked her wand at the unmoving redhead to remove the spells.

“Merlin’s balls,” Ron groaned as he pulled himself off the ground and looked up to Harry and Hermione. The pair were covered in sweat and snow, both panting, with dark circles lingering around their eyes. “What are you guys doing? I thought you said you started at seven?”

“We did start at seven,” Hermione said, biting back her annoyance as Ron brushed the snow off his pants. He already seemed miles more comfortable than the night before and was starting to slip back into his regular behaviour. It was truly incredible how daft the boy could be.

“You didn’t wake me up,” Ron said as he rubbed his side. The sting from the stunning spell no doubt ached.

“I didn’t what?” Hermione snapped, her eyes widening at the audacity of his words.

You’ve got to be kidding me, she thought as she glared at the boy in disbelief. Her hand tightened on her wand, and the air crackled around her. She was about to stun Ron a second time when Harry cut in.

“I told you what time we start at. She’s not your mother, Ron,” Harry said sternly as he strolled toward the two of them. “It’s not her job or mine to get you up. If you want to train with us, and I suggest that you do, next time, set an alarm.” 

Harry stopped three feet away then turned to glance at Hermione, who looked ready to explode.

“Let’s break for lunch and go over the plans.”

She nodded. Physically biting her tongue as she stalked past Ron and into the tent, ignoring the look of embarrassment and frustration that was plastered on his face.

-x-x-

“You want me to what?” Ron asked, his expression bewildered after Harry had spoken.

“I want you to be our lookout,” Harry repeated, his voice flat as Hermione sat at the table and picked at her toast.

It was the approach that they had discussed the night before and finalized before their morning training, but Ron was not as accepting as they had hoped. Hermione continued to avoid the boy’s gaze as much as possible because she was still too angry – though that only seemed to irritate Ron.

“Why wouldn’t I just come with you?”

“Because we don’t know what to expect when we get there, it could be dangerous.”

“So, wouldn’t it be safer if we were all together – more strength in numbers, right?”

Harry hesitated, a deep breath exhaling from his chest while he thought of how to respond. Hermione felt for him – she was glad that he had taken the lead on addressing the redheaded elephant in the room. She didn’t have the patience to do it. There was no easy way to tell Ron that he was a threat to their safety and success because he lacked the skills necessary to survive. Though, it was the truth. He was putting their mission and their existence at risk.

“We need a lookout,” Harry said carefully. “Someone outside of the wards that can watch for any uninvited guests and alert us if they show up. You missed training today, Ron – so we’re not really sure where you stand with your duelling or how to complement your skills with ours. Things have been getting pretty rough out there, and Hermione and I have been preparing for this for a while – while assuming that it would just be us two. So we’ve planned the approach that way, and we don’t have time to come up with a new strategy. But we could use your support as a lookout.”

“Right.” Ron’s face turned red as his anger flared despite Harry’s diplomatic reasoning. Hermione could see him biting the inside of his cheek to keep from exploding from the corner of her eye. He was already a ticking time bomb. “And how will I alert you if someone shows up?”

“Hermione will give you a coin, you tap it twice, and we’ll know.”

“Where is it that we’re going?” Ron asked, his hands visibly shaking with anger now.

“Xenophilius Lovegood’s,” Harry replied.

“So, after this mission, if I come to training, I can join you two on the next one?” Ron asked, but his eyes were skeptical as he glanced between the two of them.

Hermione noted the way that his hands balled into a fist on the table. He had clearly been hoping that the metaphorical ‘dust’ would settle overnight. She scoffed inwardly at the thought. He really didn’t get it, and he also looked uncomfortable with how closely Hermione was sitting next to Harry on their side of the table. She had to admit that the set-up definitely gave the feel of ‘us versus you’, but Hermione could only acknowledge it and move on for the time being. It hadn’t been what they intended, she was just in her usual seat, and Harry had naturally moved to her side.

Besides, it wasn’t their job to coddle him.

At this point, it was already taking an exceptional amount of effort just to tolerate having him physically in the tent at all. Every unfamiliar noise he made, every movement, and sound had them flinching, jumping, or sending their hearts racing in panic. Not to mention that they were putting him in danger of being injured. Their senses were keen from months of training, and their sharp reflexes were in overdrive. It was draining fighting against it. She had already almost killed or stunned Ron four times since he arrived, not including the three times that she did hit him that morning.

She couldn’t even imagine how many times Harry had caught himself almost doing it. It wasn’t intentional. It was reactive. They were positively wired, sitting on edge and exhausted from their lack of sleep the night before. And while Hermione could understand Ron’s anger at being assigned the bullshit lookout position, it was difficult for her to be sympathetic when she was barely holding herself together and was one bad reaction away from splitting him open. And regardless of Ron’s feelings, the reality was that this mission wasn’t about him, and it wasn’t even about them. It was just another task that they needed to complete in order to end this war.

“If training goes well.” Harry nodded in response to Ron’s question, though they both knew the odds of that was unlikely.

“Alright,” Ron said somewhat begrudgingly, clenching his jaw tight to keep his anger at bay. 

So far, Hermione was shocked to see that he had managed to prevent his second detonation, though it was growing closer like a building storm. She could feel it in the air, and she knew it was held off only because Ron was still more unsure of the two of them than he was angry. He had been eyeing Harry’s long messy hair and scruffy jawline since he arrived and watching their movements in confusion. However, it was only a matter of time until the scales tipped and his anger took over.

“When are we going tomorrow?” Ron asked.

“In the morning,” Hermione supplied, her eyes still transfixed at the table. “We’ll eat at 7 am, then pack up and be there for 8 am. We’ll show you the lookout point once we arrive. It should be a quick in and out – if anything goes wrong, apparate away, and we meet back here. So make sure you learn the location.”

Ron only nodded in response, and Hermione felt the tension in Harry’s shoulders lessen when the redhead stood up from the table to go shower. At the soft click of the bathroom door, Hermione cast a silencing spell.

“He’s going to explode, Harry,” she said as she turned to look at him. “I know we agreed to this plan – but this is risky. If he loses his temper at Xenophilius’s we could be in serious danger.”

“I know,” Harry exhaled deeply. They both knew there were no other viable options aside from actually stunning him and leaving him somewhere safe until they could return. “Should we tell Arthur? Maybe see if we can send him back or something?”

Hermione snorted at Harry’s sarcasm.

“We would have to stun him and make it a drop. He won’t leave on his own to go back home,” she sighed in frustration. “Harry, we can’t even shield him. If I cast that charm on him, it will be like the hilltop battle all over again when I cast it on that werewolf. The spell will be red.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Harry nodded. She could see a million scenarios running through his mind as he brushed his hair back from his face. “We just keep him at the lookout location. It’s away from everything else, and he knows where to go if anything goes wrong. He can, at the very least, apparate. He won’t go back to Shell Cottage a second time – he’s too embarrassed. So, if we chase him away or make him leave, it could be worse. He’ll be out there wandering around on his own – a high risk of being caught. At least this way, we can keep an eye on him and make sure that doesn’t happen. Maybe even train him a bit.”

“I know,” Hermione groaned and dropped her forehead to the table. She contemplated bashing it there to combat the overwhelming frustration that was consuming her. She could feel it crawling uncomfortably through her muscles and eating away at the back of her mind. “That’s the only reason why I didn’t chase him away when he first arrived – it’s far too risky. He’ll get picked up because he’s too stubborn to go back to the safety of the cottage. Fuck! He already told us it almost happened to him once. But I am not dying for him, Harry, and neither are you!”

She breathed heavily against the wood surface as she forced all the air out of her lungs. Her breath condensed on the cold wood and she watched the small patch slowly fade away before another thought struck her.

“Do you think he will leave his post?” She asked quietly.

“Fuck,” Harry breathed; the thought had not even crossed his mind. “He better not. If he is stupid enough to do that, then I’m at a complete loss – we can’t babysit him if he is actively trying to sabotage our missions.”

Hermione nodded her head against the wood as her shoulders sagged. She felt Harry place a hand gently at the base of her neck, and she closed her eyes.

“I’m tired, Harry.”

“Me too.”

“We need to sleep tonight.”

“I know.” He rubbed gentle circles into her neck, and she felt some of the stress fall away from her body.

“Even though I hate the idea of both of us being asleep while he’s in the tent, we can’t go a second night without rest. We both need to sleep tonight – it’s more important than anything else that we’re rested and functional for tomorrow. Especially now that he will be tagging along.”

It went without saying that they both knew sleeping together with Ron in the tent was pretty much the worst idea ever.

It was a risky move. If Ron noticed them, it would indeed be the most sure-fire way to make his ever-growing explosion erupt with a vengeance. They were both acutely aware of it. They both knew that the issue of their relationship would have to be addressed eventually, but neither one of them was looking forward to it. Yet they also had no interest or desire to hide it from him or anyone else, especially if that meant risking their own wellbeing and putting themselves in danger due to sleep deprivation. Hermione wasn’t so disconnected from the world that she had become completely tactless – she wasn’t going to fuck Harry or make slow love to him while Ron was there. But she did need her sleep. And that meant she needed Harry. 

There was no other option.

“Mhmm.” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses. This was just another challenge that they did not need or want to deal with because Ron would inevitably make the situation about him. “We’ll just have to ward his bunk.”

“And wait till he falls asleep.”

“And then deal with whatever happens. I’m serious about stunning him if we have to,” Harry sighed and pushed himself up from the table. “I’ll get the map.”

They spent the remainder of the afternoon reviewing the maps and plans. They disclosed only what information they absolutely had to with Ron and kept the remainder to themselves. When night finally fell and Ron had passed out in his bunk, Hermione crawled into bed next to Harry. She was glad that they had both agreed that a proper night’s sleep was the most important thing that they could accomplish tonight despite the known risk of Ron exploding. Her body ached. Her mind was sluggish and worn from the stress of having Ron in the tent. She didn’t like that she felt slow and weary, it just made her stress levels higher, and it affected her concentration. Completing a second round of night watch would be reckless and irresponsible when they both knew that neither one of them would be able to sleep without the other.

Though, Ron’s snores were hardly going to make it any easier. 

Hermione scowled toward his bunk and cast a silencing charm around it, sighing in relief when the noise stopped, and the tent fell back to its familiar quiet. After a moment’s hesitation, she cast two small wards around Ron’s bunk – one to alert them if he sat up in bed and one to prevent him from getting more than a foot out of it. Based on his sleeping habits, it was unlikely that he would wake before them – but she knew that she would not be able to rest without the wards there for fear of him waking up, bailing on them, and putting them and their mission in danger once more. 

Besides, it was always better to be safe than sorry.

Harry pulled her back against his chest, his familiar arm snaking around her waist as the cool tent air eased her eyes shut, and she fell into an uneasy sleep.

-x-x-

Hermione woke with a start, a loud gasp ripping from her chest as her hand thrust forward, lighting the tent with her wand as she shivered and looked around in terror. She felt Harry’s hand on her hip, and she sighed as her shaken mind began to calm. Cool sweat covered her forehead, and she bit back a groan.

Just a dream – the same dream as always. Breathe. Relax. The cold air stung against her lungs as she felt Harry sit up in bed next to her, and she let him pull her against him.

“It’s okay,” he murmured into her ear as she leaned back into the solid warmth of his body. It was the only secure thing that made her racing heart slow. “You’re safe, I promise.”

“What time is it?” She felt too shaky to check herself. Instead, she lay cradled in his arms, lowering her wand and returning them into darkness.

“5:30 am.”

“That’s later than usual.”

“Mhmm.” His hum rattled against her chest, and she closed her eyes tight, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve.

“I’m going to just get up then – take a shower.”

“Okay, I’ll start breakfast.”

“Alright,” she breathed, as Harry kissed her neck gently. She pulled herself from bed on shaky legs, scrapped Ron’s wards, and quickly summoned a fresh set of clothes from her purse before padding softly to the bathroom.

-x-x-

“I could have slept on the floor.”

The hollow sound of Ron’s voice pulled Harry’s attention away from the eggs he was cooking. Hermione was still in the shower, the plates were already set out on the table, and Ron was now sitting up in bed, his feet resting against the cold floor while he fixed Harry with a strange expression. It was tight, bitter, unsure – he looked disturbed and confused, as if he had not quite reached a conclusion yet, but was afraid of the answer.

“It’s not a big deal,” Harry said quickly, hoping to dismiss the topic. 

Ron had likely woken when Hermione blasted the tent with a violent beam of light. They had both known that it was a risk when they decided to sleep normally, but Harry couldn’t regret it. He felt rested and alert, which was better than he could say he felt the previous day. Ron had probably heard them together, as it was unlikely that he saw much of anything in the darkness or blazing light, and had been laying in his bed contemplating it for the next half hour. That was the most likely reason for his pinched face and angry curiosity. It wasn’t surprising, but Harry couldn’t help but inwardly scoff at the resentment he showed. 

It was unfounded and so typical Ron.

“Or we could transfigure that chair into another bed,” Ron said, not letting the topic drop. 

He clearly wasn’t satisfied with Harry’s response and was digging for information that Harry knew he would not truly want to know. Yet he didn’t have the balls to ask outright and was beating around the bush like a coward. 

The water in the bathroom shut off.

“That’s Hermione’s workspace,” Harry said in a clipped tone, placing a hot mug of tea in front of Hermione’s plate and ignoring Ron’s eyes. “Tea, coffee, or water?”

“I’m sure it would be fine to change a chair into a bed just for the night,” Ron continued as he pushed himself from the bunk and made his way to the table. It seemed the final remains of the stunned stupor that had encased him upon his arrival was dissolving rapidly, and the old Ron was starting to shine through much more clearly.

Up until now, Ron had likely assumed that they had only shared a bunk because there was no place else to sleep – though he clearly didn’t wholeheartedly buy the explanation that his own mind had come up with. Since they could have created a third bed for the night. Harry clenched his jaw and bit back his annoyance. The boy was like a dog with a bone, and he didn’t know when to stop. This wasn’t important right now. They were about to embark on a dangerous mission, and that was what they all needed to be focused on.

“She doesn’t sleep well alone,” Harry said bluntly, finally turning his eyes toward Ron and fixing him with a firm stare – daring him to press the topic further. He should have just obliviated the memory from him, but it would be wasted efforts since it would just keep happening. “She has nightmares.”

“Why?” Ron asked, hands curling tightly around the back of the kitchen chair as Harry slid the eggs onto a plate and set them in the center of the table. The anger in his voice was growing now, and it was starting to piss Harry off.

If you can’t handle the answers, don’t ask the questions, Harry thought in annoyance as his eyes hardened.

“Bad experiences.” Harry crossed his arms over his chest, placing himself directly across the table from Ron. The air grew tight, and it felt like the tent was shrinking around them. The tension was palpable, growing thicker with each breath, and Harry was shoving down his growing urge to punch Ron in the throat. “Tea, coffee, or water?”

Ron opened his mouth to respond, probably to yell and make accusations – turning their conversation into a full-blown argument – but his attention was pulled toward the small bathroom hallway at the sound of the doorway opening. Hermione padded out toward Harry, hair freshly dried and tied into a loose braid along the back of her head. Harry’s eyes shifted over to her, and he couldn’t stop the twitch of his lips or the spark of warmth in his heart at the sight of her thick, fuzzy, purple socks as she grew closer. They went well with the sweater she was wearing. It was one of her favourites after all.

Hermione probably hadn’t looked at the clothes she had summoned after waking in terror and making her way to the bathroom. She wouldn’t have even thought about them after putting them on in the small bathroom. It didn’t even register in Harry’s mind that her favourite sweater had a small v-neck, and her topmost scar was peeking out three inches at the neckline.

But it registered for Ron.

Harry heard the sharp intake of breath across the table from him and glanced back at Ron with a raised eyebrow, confused as to why Ron’s face suddenly looked shocked. It took a full three seconds for the realization to hit him. Harry would have stunned the boy silent before the words exited his mouth – but he’d been too slow in making the connection because he no longer noticed her scars as something significant. They had become a part of her, just another part that he loved.

“Merlin, Hermione – what happened?!” Ron’s words were breathless as he stared at her chest, and Hermione’s face contorted into one of confusion.

“What?” She asked, the sharpness of her voice dampened by her own confusion. She tracked Ron’s eyes and looked down, freezing on spot when she realized where he was staring.

Harry’s hands balled into fists, a low hiss coming out between his clenched teeth as he glared at Ron and took a step forward. Ron didn’t deserve a magical hex – no, he deserved a good old-fashioned beating.

“Nothing,” Hermione said slowly, her hand catching Harry’s sleeve tightly and stopping him in his tracks. Her gaze rose back up to meet Ron’s, and Harry did not miss the flash of anger and hurt that cut across her eyes. It had been ages since she had even thought about her scars, and Ron’s inconsiderate reaction was just another reminder of how difficult it would be to readjust to other people – which was something he knew she already worried about.

His arm twitched in her grip. It took all his self-control not to pull away from her and lunge across the table to strangle the redhead for his blatant and bold insensitivity. He wanted to, but he knew this was Hermione’s business. It was her fight and her body – so it was up to her to handle it. She didn’t need him to defend her. So, despite his burning anger, he stayed where he was, leaning into her touch on his arm as a wave of pride flooded through him. He was immensely proud of her for not covering up the mark and transfiguring the collar of her shirt after Ron’s remark.

She shouldn’t have to, and Ron should have known better.

“That doesn’t look like nothing,” Ron said, still in shock and unable to look away.

“Keep looking at my chest, and I’ll gouge your eyes out with my thumbs,” Hermione said, her voice cold as her eyes narrowed into a death glare. Ron balked at her words and pried his gaze from her neck, instead refocusing on her eyes with concern. She dropped her hand from Harry’s arm and took two confident steps to her chair at the table. “I had a bad run-in a while ago, but it’s none of your business.”

Ron’s eyes darted back to Harry’s as if for clarification, but they only widened when he saw Harry’s furious expression and balled fists. He swallowed. The seconds ticked by as Ron’s eyes flicked between the two of them – looking like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Then eventually, his eyes began to narrow. Hermione’s scar had distracted him from his previous train of thought and his anger with Harry, but now, it was beginning to settle back into place. 

Then Ron’s face twisted into a look of disgust and unjustified hostility.

“Is it related to why you two slept together last night?”

There it is, Harry thought caustically. The only thing you actually want to know. You don’t even truly give a shit about what happened to her, do you?

Ron had spoken the words with such disdain it made Harry’s insides twist over. The redhead was livid with them. He was hyper-fixated on their closeness. He’d been fighting against acknowledging it since the moment that he arrived because he was too nervous, too scared of them, and too desperate to obtain their forgiveness to address it. He’d likely been attributing their behaviour to them being wary of his return, but after hearing them together last night, he was running out of excuses to explain away the close behaviour. And now, his insecurities had flared, and his anger was returning full force.

How Ron had foolishly thought that after seven months, Hermione might still have an interest in him or that their dynamic would be the same was beyond Harry’s comprehension. Especially given the circumstances of his departure.

Regardless, it was clear that he was desperate to know just how close they really were. It seemed to be the only thing he cared about and the only thing he was putting any effort into. Yet he still wouldn’t outright ask, and he was still desperately hoping that Hermione sleeping in Harry’s bed wasn’t what he thought it might be – that maybe it was something else, anything else. At this point, though, Harry wouldn’t be surprised if a part of Ron did hope that his worst fears were true because then he could feel justified in his betrayal. He would be the victim, and they would become the betrayers. The inevitable impending nuclear eruption was balanced on the edge of a knife, and they had all but just handed him the match.

Hermione pulled out her chair slowly, taking a seat and picking up the tea that Harry had prepared for her. She held it in both hands below her chin, comfortably taking in the warmth before she took a small sip.

“Eat your eggs, Ronald,” she breathed, a tone of finality in her voice as she caught Ron’s eyes and fixed him with an even stare. “We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

Happy belated Chinese New Year Appleblossum24!  This Wednesday chapter is for you. 2020 is the year of the rat, and it is supposed to be the year of new beginnings – new opportunities for finding love, earning more money, and being successful!

-x-x-

A muffled pop echoed out into the mild, damp air as three invisible bodies appeared at the edge of the forest on the east side of the Lovegood’s property. They were far enough away from the Burrow to avoid suspicion, and nowhere near what Hermione had expected was the traditional location for arriving at the Lovegood’s household – as now they had to cut across some unattractive terrain to get inside the wards. Though, that was just a small sacrifice to make as their location provided good coverage of their arrival and multiple hiding places that would allow their newly acquired ‘ lookout ’ the opportunity to spy unnoticed. Frankly, she doubted that he would do much ‘ looking out’.  Nor would he add any value to their mission or accomplish much other than overdramatic brooding and ridiculous seething. 

She just hoped that the idiot would remember to apparate away if anyone  did  show up.

She bit back an outward groan as Ron angrily dropped her hand with a jerking motion the second the ground stopped moving, and they had safely arrived. It was childish, but it was no matter. She didn’t exactly  enjoy  holding his sweaty hand, and she had only done it so that she could bring them to their destination. She could hardly say that she was shocked or startled by the furious energy that seemed to be leaking from his body. She understood it – but that didn’t mean that she thought it was justified. 

Breakfast had been tense, more than tense, it was like sitting inside a pressure cooker, and it felt like having her brain pushed out through her ears. Ron had obviously heard her in Harry’s bed that morning when she woke the tent with her wand light. It wasn’t surprising. She knew it was bound to happen. Though she had hoped that it wouldn’t happen the first night so they could deal with this later. Now he was livid. Yet, like Harry, she didn’t regret it. 

They needed sleep. 

End of story.

However, Ron being Ron had refused to let the topic go. He may have audibly shut up when she denied him a response and sent him a death glare, but he was very clearly still fuming about it, overthinking it and waiting for a second opportunity to bring it up. In classic Ron fashion, he refused to grow up and see the bigger picture, and once again, Hermione found herself in a position where she could  understand  his feelings – sort of – but she didn’t agree with them. 

He wasn’t being reasonable, and his behaviour was dangerous. As a result, Hermione couldn’t stop the burning disgust and anger that she felt over how he was handling his own voluntary return. The boy was moronic; how he could come back thinking that nothing had changed between the three of them or that he would be welcomed after seven months away was insane. Why on earth would they be excited to see her? How could he possibly think that they would be anything but pissed while harbouring loathing disgust about his actions? What did he think they had been doing these last few months, crying in sadness and awaiting his return?

He had always been short-sighted, but this approach was stupid, immature, and crude even by his low standards. He was completely unable to regulate his emotions or use the organ that rested between his ears, and it made her sick with frustration.

Of course  he would only focus on their relationship.  Of course  he would gawk at her scars and make inconsiderate comments.  Of course  the boy would allow his rage and hurt to blind his ability to  think  and try to see things from their perspective.

It’s not like we’re in the middle of a war or anything,  she thought caustically.

Or like a psychopathic demon is chasing after us.

Or like we are the only ones with the information required to win the war and defeat said demon.

Or like the  entire  wizarding world is unknowingly depending on us to succeed.

Fucking moron.

She eyed him from the corner of her vision when they landed. She didn’t need to be able to see him to know that he was still scowling in disgust or that his ears were still bright red with anger. She wondered how long her calm and stinted words at the breakfast table would keep him quiet. At the time, he had dropped to his seat with a tightly clenched jaw, sat stiffly, and picked at his eggs until Harry kicked him out of the tent so he could pack everything up. Hermione had stood outside more than ten feet away from him, completely ignoring him while she charmed his ‘ lookout ’ coin. Once everything was packed, Hermione quickly cast a disillusionment on them and grabbed their hands firmly to apparate.

She looked out at the muddy marsh before her, her skin bristled in the light breeze that pulled across her face, and she bit down a second angry groan.

This is a mistake,  she breathed.

They should have stunned him. They should have done something,  anything,  but brought him here. He was even more of a liability now than he was twelve hours ago when they sat around the small wooden table having an awkward dinner. He was agitated and unfocused. He was hostile towards them and irrational about everything, and now he was about to be left  alone  as a ‘lookout’ while she and Harry walked back out into the shitstorm of the world for the first time since Birmingham. Their situation was not good. She could feel the wrath radiating off of him in waves, and it set her nerves on edge.

Something was going to happen. She could just feel it, and it was going to be entirely his fault – except could she even blame him at this point? She knew the risk, as did Harry, and yet they still brought him along because there just wasn’t a good solution to this problem. So how could she blame him if something happened? 

Failure was all she could expect of him anymore. He had blamed them, abandoned them, disappointed them, and constantly let them down over the years – and then he had capped that  glorious  six-year history off by fully deserting them last September. And since his return, he had done absolutely nothing to show any growth – neither physically nor emotionally.

And now we are fucked .

It truly didn’t matter what they did now. It didn’t matter if they left him, brought him, returned him home, or brought him to the cottage. She and Harry were completely and utterly fucked. She had briefly considered backing out of their plan to proceed after breakfast and leaving Ron with Arthur – she trusted him to keep Ron at home and in check. But she didn’t trust Mrs. Weasley, and there was no way that Arthur could keep Ron hidden away for potentially months without her knowing. Not with that cursed clock anyways. Mrs. Weasley would know in a heartbeat if her son was being held captive in their own house, or anywhere for that matter. 

Hermione let out a sigh.

She should have hexed the blasted clock when she was at the Burrow the previous summer, but at the time, she hadn’t known that Mrs. Weasley’s son was going to walk out on them and leave them alone to fight the terrors of the war.

She had contemplated obliviating him to remove the critical information from his mind so that even if he did run off again, he wouldn’t be a risk. The problem there was that she lacked the skills to artfully pull out multiple occurrences of single concepts or memories that stretched out over massive lengths of time. She was well accomplished in removing blocks of time regardless of how far back she needed to go to get them. But to remove Ron’s memories of the Horcruxes specifically would be like trying to pull out multiple single threads from a complex, tightly-knit blanket without ruining the blanket.

It was possible if one was skilled enough.

But she had never done that before. Could she do it? Probably, given enough time and practice, but could she do it in an hour before going to Xenophilius’s so they could stick to the plan? No, definitely not. 

She doubted that she could even do it in a day, and attempting it without further research or practice would risk permanently damaging Ron’s mind. 

So, she had contemplated obliviating  everything  about this mission   from his head, but that had felt extreme even to her. The gap would be massive. It would extend for months, his family would notice, and if anyone caught him to interrogate him, it would be obvious that someone had been in his head. She couldn’t imagine that the Weasleys would be pleased, and that would only make this harder. 

At the end of the day, she was just trying to do the right thing – reasonably balance the risk that Ron posed against the possible impacts of their chosen solution. She didn’t want to hurt Ron; she just wanted to ensure their safety and the safety of this mission. So given the time constraints, she did what she could and picked what looked like the best option.

Then, she just added an extra charm to the coin she gave him and bit down her nervous anxiety.

No matter what they did, there was always a risk that Ron would find a way to ruin it. So, for the time being, until she either practiced her memory charm work or they found a better option – they would keep him close and babysit him. That way, they could watch his every move and prevent him from single-handedly ruining the war efforts.

“This is your post,” she heard Harry say in a toneless voice to her right after he had cast several detection spells around them. She knew he was pointing to the treeline edge even though she couldn’t see it. “You have the coin?”

“Yes,” Ron said, his voice was tight with barely controlled anger. It made her want to roll her eyes.

“Good. Remember, if you see anything – tap it twice and apparate back to the cliff,” Harry said as he stepped toward Hermione.

“Don’t forget to refresh your disillusionment charm either,” Hermione added, keeping her hands clenched at her sides to help control her flaring temper. “It will wear off after 10 minutes or so. I’m not sure how long we will be gone, but hopefully, you won’t need to do it more than twice.”

Ron didn’t respond.

She could feel him standing just a few feet away, but aside from the awkward tension and angry vibes, she got nothing in return. Hermione closed her eyes tightly as a fresh wave of stress crept through her veins, and she resisted the urge to punch his invisible face. She wouldn’t miss – even with the disillusionment. 

She let out another quiet breath and forced her shoulders to drop. She hated this. She hated that this was the situation she and Harry had found themselves in after all the training they had gone through. It was like life was truly determined to try and screw them over.

“Cast a silencing spell on yourself as we discussed, and don’t leave the treeline. Stay here, stay out of sight, and keep your eyes open. We don’t know if there are any alarms that will summon snatchers – so be prepared to move and move fast,” Hermione said coldly, forcing out the rest of their agreed-to plan. Though, honestly, she wasn’t sure why she was bothering. The dolt probably wasn’t listening to her anyways. “We’ll be back shortly.”

With that, she turned on her heel and grabbed Harry’s hand, instinctively knowing where it would be, and then she made her way out into the small marshy bog that covered the distance between them and the strange-looking house. It rose vertically against the dim morning sky, tall and straight, very unsimilar to the Burrow’s leaning and crooked structure. She often wondered if wizarding homes were always magical or if some of them were just charmed muggle homes. In the case of the Burrow and the Lovegood’s, she had no doubt that they were magically constructed from the ground up.

“How much longer do you have on your shield?” Harry whispered near her ear after they had cast a silencing charm around themselves and gotten a few steps away from their ‘ lookout ’.

“Seven minutes, then I’ll need to recast. Harry, Ron is going to pop.  This  was a mistake.”

“I know. I’ve been thinking that since breakfast, but I couldn’t come up with a better idea at the time,” Harry squeezed her hand as they continued to squish their way through the soggy bog. They had been hoping that it would still be frozen from the winter, but it appeared the mild, southern late-March weather had thawed it out some. “You were going to stun him this morning, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” she sighed, faltering only slightly to pull her foot from the suction of the mud. “I heavily considered it.”

“What stopped you?”

“Mrs. Weasley,” she groaned as she continued to vanish their footsteps and silence their racket. “I was contemplating bringing him to Arthur – I trusted that he would keep Ron locked up somewhere safe with no questions asked until we came up with a better solution. But Mrs. Weasley would have found out and pitched a bloody fit, I’m sure. So I decided against it. If I could trust Ron to stay put himself, which I  don’t , I would have brought him back to the cottage. If he was anyone else or had a single reasonable bone in his body, we could have arranged to go there and talk to him after this mission. Then we could have explained to him why he needs to stay there – but obviously, that idea is just laughable.”

They both paused momentarily when they crossed through the wards. The unfamiliar tingle across her skin made her body feel like it was buzzing with a little cluster of friendly bumblebees. It was a strange sensation and not like any wards she had previously encountered. She supposed it made sense, given that Luna’s mother had created these entirely on her own. She would have been a curiously fascinating witch to meet. 

They waited for several seconds just inside the wards, prepared to dart backwards, prepared to defend or attack if necessary if snatchers showed up – but nothing happened. Then, taking another tentative step forward, they continued on.

“I added a second charm on the coin as a backup measure,” Hermione noted as she steadied Harry through a particularly mucky area.

“What did you add?”

“I added a small tracking charm to it, so as long as he keeps the coin on him, we can find him. It doesn’t work over great distances. I didn’t have the time to set up a full-scale trace, but Ron was never great with apparition anyway, so I figured he wouldn’t get too far. Hypothetically, we should be able to find him if he runs off again.”

“Clever – so worst case, if we return to the treeline and he has abandoned us once again, we can go collect him and  then  bring him to Arthur.”

“Exactly. It was the best backup measure I could come up with on the spot. Frankly, it’s the only reason why I even considered proceeding with our original plan after what happened this morning. I’m just hoping he doesn’t manage to disapparate and get caught in the small amount of time we’re with Xenophilius.”

“Pfft,’ Harry snorted. Her fear wasn’t that farfetched. It was entirely plausible for Ron to get caught in less than fifteen minutes. “So, assuming he doesn’t leave – how bad do you think it will be when we get back and return to camp?”

“Bad – like nuclear warhead level of bad,” she said flatly with no emotion. “I’m not worried about him, though, Harry – I don’t care that he’s upset.”

“You’re worried that you might do something.” Harry nodded alongside her and let out a breath of relief when they reached solid, firm ground.

Their boots were covered in mud, and it had tracked up their calves. A quick wave of his wand removed the majority of the muck, but their pants were still dirty. The rest would have to be managed with a warming charm on their legs as the stubborn mud was clearly reluctant to leave their skin – no surprise, given whose house it was.

“Yes,” she admitted quietly.

It was true. She wasn’t afraid of Ron. In fact, the thought of being afraid of him almost made her laugh out loud. He wouldn’t even be able to  raise  his wand, let alone  cast  anything at her before she disarmed him – possibly literally – and she wasn’t afraid of hurting him emotionally either. 

She didn’t care that he was upset or that his ego had been bruised. He was being immature and selfish while she and Harry had done nothing wrong. What she did care about, though, was two-fold: one, having a second and unnecessary death on her conscious, and two – most importantly – failing their mission. Pissing Ron off so much that he left for a second time and put them at risk because he would inevitably be caught was not something that she would tolerate. She’d be able to track him, sure. The coin had a relatively decent range on it, and they would be able to find him and return him to Shell Cottage or the Burrow. But it wasn’t like she and Harry could constantly pop all around Britain collecting Ron every time his feelings got hurt, and he decided to run away out of embarrassment. Besides, even he would eventually figure out how they were finding him, and then he would throw out the coin.

This was the only reason why she had not confirmed his suspicions at breakfast and told him of their relationship. 

If she had, he would have left and ruined their plans. They would have lost the day while they searched for him and dragged him back home, and she couldn’t allow that. Their mission was more important than Ron or his need for information that was none of his business. Whereas now, after denying him a response, she could at least hope that he would hold it together for fifteen minutes while they got what they needed because his curiosity and anger would get the better of him. He would stay because he  needed  to know. Then, they could all return to camp and discuss the situation like rational adults, calmly and reasonably.

She snorted inwardly.

That was a pipe dream if there ever was one. In reality, it was much more likely that they would return to camp, Ron would blow up, and if she could manage not to kill him – which she was seriously beginning to doubt – he would disapparate. Either way, though, as long as she could defer it from happening until after this mission, it gave them time to go collect him, drop him off to Arthur and then establish a new plan. Perhaps there was a way to convince Arthur and Mrs. Weasley that their son was a threat to the success of the war. Perhaps she could even take some proper time to obliviate the specific memories from his mind over the course of a week or two. It was something that they would need to work out later. For now, she needed to stay focused on the task at hand and get what they needed from Xenophilius.

Harry gripped her hand tightly as if having read her mind. 

“Let’s get this done and over with,” he said gently. “Then we can figure out what to do.”

As they approached the broken-down front gate, three signs came into view. They were all hand-painted, and at one point, were bright in colour. The first read  ‘The Quibbler. Editor: X. Lovegood’,  the second: ‘ Pick Your Own Mistletoe,’  and the third  ‘Keep Off the Dirigible Plums.’

Cautiously, they made their way through the creaking gate and down the overgrown zigzagging pathway to the front door. Hermione recognized one of the bushes that was still covered in small, thin, orange radish-like fruit despite the cold – Luna occasionally wore them as earrings. She would have to remember to ask the girl what they were called if she ever managed to see her again. From the outside, the house appeared deserted and rather unkempt. It sort of looked like how Hermione felt on the inside, and a small tinge of sadness edged through her body with the thought.

They were not the only ones struggling with the war. 

Aside from the sleepy-looking owl perched by the open window of a second-floor room, there was no sign of life around. At the faint knock that echoed on the door, Hermione knew that Harry had announced their presence. They waited in the damp, cool air of the morning in silence, her heart beating at a steady pace while her muscles tensed in anticipation. 

She was nervous about speaking with another person and even more nervous about going into unknown territory, but having the conversation on the doorstep wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. Despite this, her instincts still scream against it. Inside was dangerous, confined, limiting – not a good place if they needed to flee quickly.

After a long stretch of time, Hermione began to wonder if they were too late, that perhaps Xenophilius had been taken and was being held elsewhere. Or the much darker reality that he may already be dead. She was about to motion Harry to leave when she heard a thudding inside the house behind the door and watched in surprise as it was wrenched open by none other than a very dishevelled and confused-looking Xenophilius.

“Who’s there?” He whispered, his eyes darting around the empty space before him. 

He was barefoot despite the cold and was wearing what seemed to be a thin, stained nightshirt. His long white, candyfloss hair was unkempt, almost as unruly as hers or Harry’s, and it was a far stretch of appearance since the last time they had seen him at the Burrow. Hermione cancelled their disillusionment charm with a twitch of her finger and watched as his eyes grew wide and he fell against the doorframe in shock. It was very apparent that he recognized them.

“Mr. Lovegood,” Harry said calmly as his eyes warily searched the man before them. “May we come in?”

The man seemed incapable of speech. He clung to the doorframe, unmoving until his head started to nod, the movements becoming faster and faster until finally he slipped from the doorframe and stumbled back into the house. His erratic behaviour was unnerving, and Harry only clutched her hand more tightly as they pushed their way cautiously inside behind him and closed the door.

Xenophilius had stumbled back several feet into the kitchen. He stood before them, hand desperately clutching at the dirty kitchen table before them. His eyes were twitching, and he seemed like he was struggling internally with something. His mouth would tremble, and he’d open it only for no sound to come out until his body quivered and he’d shut it again. He looked distressed, beyond distressed really, and the house looked like it had been torn apart in a fit of rage or by a band of Death Eaters. 

Unease settled across Hermione’s heart as she quickly took in their surroundings, and she clutched her wand more tightly. She only had another three minutes left on her shield until she would need to recast it again, but more than anything else, she just wanted to leave. It wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right, and she knew that Harry felt it too. She wished she could speak to him without Xenophilius noticing so she could ask if he’d picked up on anything strange.

Finally, Xenophilius seemed to find his voice, and he grimaced as he spoke. “Would you like to come up for tea? The living room is far more comfortable.”

“No, thank you, sir,” Hermione said slowly, her eyes never leaving his frame as she nudged Harry’s arm. “We only had a quick question we hoped to ask you.”

“Ah yes – yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, of course – of course. Please, have a seat here.” 

He stumbled his way along the table toward the cluttered kitchen counter and began pulling out tea mugs despite them having declined his offer. He grabbed a can of loose leave tea and poured it directly into the mugs, filling them with cold tap water as Hermione and Harry cautiously inched their way toward the table.

The room was in disarray. 

The cupboards, which looked to be previously painted bright primary colours, now looked dingy and grey. There were dishes everywhere and large collections of books and papers scattered across a side table and the floor. A dirty wrought-iron staircase in the center of the room that led to the upper levels was littered with clothes, and each step was covered in papers. Hermione eyed everything with caution, her hand flinching as Xenophilius began banging around looking for what she could only imagine was the sugar container, and her eyebrow raised a fraction when she watched him scoop empty spoonfuls into each cup. She and Harry exchanged a wary look. The glass jar was completely empty – but Xenophilius did not seem to take notice, and they both knew that this man was damaged and deranged.

“Sir, I wanted to ask you about the symbol you wore around your neck at Bill and Fleur’s wedding this past summer – the triangle with the circle in the middle. Can you tell us what it means?” Harry asked quickly. He was just as uncomfortable as she was and wanted to get this over with.

Xenophilius froze at the counter, and his body rattled once more. It looked like he was straining against something, and Hermione’s chest began to grow tighter with fear. 

Are those tremors an aftereffect of extreme cruciatus torture?  She wondered.  What happened to him?

Something was very wrong with this man. Turning slowly, Xenophilius carried over three cups of cold water and tea leaves and set them on the kitchen table before them. His face was strained into a tight and ridiculously phony smile, though his arched eyebrow of curiosity did seem to be genuine. It was like his body was acting spastically.

“Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows?” He asked, and he reached a hand up to pull out the necklace that lay under his dirty nightshirt.

“Yes, sir – that symbol. What are the Deathly Hallows?” Harry continued, hoping to stay on point and end this quickly.

The first honest emotion, aside from curiosity and fear, slid across Xenophilius’s face in the form of a smile. He sat down carefully at the table and clutched his mug tightly in his hands, then motioned across the table to the vacant seats. Harry inched forward to an empty chair across from him, pulling Hermione with him by the hand, and sat awkwardly. Both of them perched on the edge of their seat uncomfortably and prepared to bail at a moment’s notice.

“I suppose I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of it – as not many wizards believe. Witness that knuckle-headed young man at the wedding who attacked me for wearing it – claiming I was sporting the symbol of a dark wizard! Hah! Such ignorance – there is nothing dark about the Deathly Hallows, at least not in that sense. Wearing the symbol is simply a way to reveal oneself to other believers.”

He took a sip of the disgusting cold brew that he clenched in his hands like a lifeline and seemed completely unaware of it being cold – or that his lips were now covered in soggy bits of tea leaves. Though Hermione felt it was best not to point it out.

“And what is it that you believe?” She asked quietly, watching the way the man continued to almost vibrate at the table. “What does the symbol represent?”

“That you believe in the Deathly Hallows,” Xenophilius stated obviously. He seemed confused by her question, and he gave them another pained smile. “The symbol simply represents the Hallows.”

“What  are  the Hallows?” Harry asked more bluntly, and at that, surprise crossed the man’s face.

“Are you not familiar with the Tale of the Three Brothers?”

Harry frowned, and Hermione did as well. Of course they were. They’d read it several times over the course of the last seven months. Every time they opened Dumbledore’s copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard, they came across the tale. It was just a story, one of many in a children’s book. A children’s book that Hermione still had no idea why Dumbledore had left to them.

“Yes,” Harry said tightly, his hand still firmly holding Hermione’s. They would both need to recast their shield in a moment.

“Well, that story contains the Deathly Hallows – it is about them.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry said slowly.

Xenophilius jerked up from the table with a violent shudder, causing Hermione and Harry to flinch and raise their wands. They watched as he scrambled from his seat toward the table in the corner that contained a mountain of papers and began rooting around.

“Recast your shield,” Harry muttered, and Hermione only nodded in response.

They both recast their shields while Xenophilius continued to rustle with the books, muttering to himself and completely unaware of the purple flash behind him that signified the successful implementation of their spell. The anxious anticipation that had been plaguing Hermione since the moment they left the safety of their campsite was growing, and now it was beginning to rattle her nerves beyond what she was capable of dealing with.  Something  was wrong. Everything in this house was wrong, and the man before them seemed to be out of his mind and at odds with his body. He’d clearly been ransacked, tortured, harassed, and Merlin knows what else. Suddenly he turned back toward them with a wide grin, a blank piece of paper and a quill clutched tightly in his hand. He made his way back to the table on unsteady feet and slapped the page down against the dirty surface.

“Yes, yes, yes, the Deathly Hallows – see, do you see them now?” He started to draw the familiar symbol as he named each shape he sketched. “The Cloak of Invisibility – the Resurrection Stone – the Elder Wand – and together these three pieces make the Deathly Hallows.”

He looked rather pleased with himself as if he had just bestowed some invaluable knowledge upon them. Then another much more violent shiver ran through his body and his hand clenched hard around the quill as if he were in pain.

“The book doesn’t name those as the Deathly Hallows,” Hermione said cautiously. She’d pushed back in her seat to gain more distance from the wreck of a man before them.

“Of course not – it’s a children’s tale,” he breathed, another violent shudder running through him as he clenched his teeth and gripped the table’s surface. “It isn’t meant to instruct. But together, these three elements make one the master of death.”

“Does the Peverell family have anything to do with this story?” Hermione asked after a moment’s pause. She’d been wondering why the symbol showed on the headstone in the cemetery and now seemed like as good a time as any to ask – since she wasn’t really sure exactly what Xenophilius was getting at.

“Well, of course!” Xenophilius looked rather taken aback by her question as his hand started to shake against the table more frequently. “They have  everything  to do with it – they are the three brothers: Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus! They were the original owners of the Hallows, the wand, the cloak of true invisibility – not some charmed disillusionment fabric or bedazzling hex – I mean a cloak which truly allowed for invisibility, and the resurrection stone! The stone that can return life to the dead. But let me assure you, young witch, that this is no mere  story .”

“Wait – you’re saying that these exist?” Harry said in disbelief.

At that moment, the door to the house slammed open, and Ron trudged inside. Xenophilius jumped at the noise and then began to quiver continuously as his hands gripped at the fabric of his nightshirt once more. Hermione and Harry had leapt up from their seat at the sound, wands raised at the boy and eyes livid.

“ What  are you doing in here?” Hermione hissed, her eyes flicking between the redhead before her and the grown man to her right, who looked like he was having a full-body convulsion. 

Is he seizing? Is this how bad convulsions can get from extended torture? What the fuck did they do to him? 

Questions circled her head rapidly, but she bit them down and refocused on Ron, feeling her rage expanding beyond her control. 

“You’re supposed to be our lookout!”

“Yeah?! Well, I got tired of waiting for you and not knowing what the bloody hell is going on! Being a ‘lookout’? Seriously?! How stupid do you think I am? It’s a bullshit job, and you know it! So why don’t we cut the crap and –” Ron froze. His gaze had latched onto their interlaced fingers, and his eyes turned furious as he stared at the nonexistent space between them. “ Why  are you holding hands AGAIN?!”

“Are you  fucking  kidding me, Ron?!” Harry groaned as he rolled his eyes, and his grip tightened on his wand. “It’s so we don’t get separated, and in case we need to apparate away, you fucking idiot! Now get outside!”

“No! I want to know what the  fuck  is going on!” Ron yelled, stepping forward into the kitchen and starting to close the distance between the three of them. “And don’t you fucking lie to me, you backstabbing bastard!”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Hermione raised her wand to his face, intending to stun him and put an end to this absurd confrontation. 

Fuck it,  she thought.  Arthur can have him, AND I’ll obliviate him .

“I’m s-s-sorry!” Xenophilius wailed as he collapsed to the ground, and his entire body began to writhe in pain. Hermione’s eyes darted to him, and she twitched, torn between stunning Ron and attempting to help the man. “G-G-G-Go! GO! You must go! I tried! I’m s-sorry.”

“Tried what?” Ron asked stupidly, pausing in his steps to stare at the convulsing man in confusion at the same time Hermione froze. 

Her brain processed Xenophilius’s words before he had even finished speaking them, and in an instant, everything clicked. It was like the pieces of the puzzle had finally fallen into place, and Hermione’s eyes widened in understanding. This was why the house felt so strange, why everything was so disgusting and neglected – why Xenophilius had been shaking and twitching. It was why his body seemed out of sync and bizarre. Why it seemed like he had been fighting against something since the moment they arrived on his doorstep.

It was because he had been. It wasn’t  just  tremors – he was fighting against the wards, against an  imperius  curse – but he was no longer able to.

“GET OUT NOW!” She screamed, pulling Harry and diving forward.

The side of the house exploded. Large chunks of stone and wood shot like shrapnel through the house as the sound of the blast threatened to burst their eardrums. Hermione rolled to the side, electing to drop Harry’s hand to avoid being hit by the iron staircase that flew over her. Her shield would have held against the blow. It had already protected her from several large pieces of stone and wood – she knew that. But it wasn’t like they could apparate from the house anyway, so she would rather save the strength of her shield for when she truly needed it. Besides, they would both need as much agility as possible to make their way outside – they’d been launched to the back corner of the house, and burning wreckage and debris stretched between them and the only exit.

With a quick and disoriented glance around her, her stomach lurched. The house looked like a war zone. Like it had just been bombed and set on fire, and her ears were ringing. Smoke and dust filled the air, and to her right, she could barely make out Xenophilius laying on the floor, a pool of blood around his head and a large stick of wood protruding out from his thigh. Whether or not he was dead or just unconscious, she didn’t know. For Luna’s sake, she hoped it was the latter. Papers were scattered and falling everywhere around them as burning chunks of debris began to pour from the levels above them. The house groaned deeply, a creaking sound emanating from the base and echoing up the walls to the floors above.

It’s going to collapse.

H er heart stuttered in her chest. She crawled to her knees, only to immediately fling herself to the side to avoid a spell that shot from above. Her breath came in pants as she coughed against the smoke and peered around her once more, only to see half a dozen black-cloaked figures appearing around the house. She could barely make out their yelling. She couldn’t see Ron – his body must have been blasted off beside her or possibly out into the yard. The reality that he might not have survived the explosion without a shield did not escape her as she rolled toward the exit. She knew that Harry was just off to her left and was making his way there already. 

Turning quickly, she managed to avoid another attack and countered by slicing open the first black-cloaked figure that she saw. She could just make out his strangled cries in the confusion as she clambered over the rubble and desperately made her way to the light from the opening in the side of the house.

“Get outside!” She screamed again. She knew that Harry would know what to do, but if Ron was still breathing, he would panic. She hoped that he might hear her direction and at least make an attempt at escape. She couldn’t say she was worried about him, but she was worried about him getting caught.

Running through the burning books and shattered glass, she saw what she could only assume was Harry tumbling through the opening before her and narrowly missing a stunning spell. The silent return fire through the opening was undoubtably his, and she heard the scream of another faceless black-cloaked man as he blasted hard into the remains of the wall behind them.

Our shields will hold! Our shields will hold! We will have enough time! 

She repeated the words in her head like a mantra as she ran, dodged, and scrambled across the uneven ground while sending counter attacks behind her. They would be able to get away. They just needed to avoid the barrage of spells that were being hurled at them until they could get past the wards and apparate to safety – and with their shield, they could even handle a few hits.

She ducked as chains flew past her head and frowned. Why were they attacking with binding chains?

Two steps more, and she pulled herself through the opening where the door used to be. She rolled, ducking the hex that flew over her head from behind and remained low in a bear crawl as she moved toward Harry. He launched a string of counterattacks over her to give her cover as she made her way across the glass and broken stone that littered the yard. She had just popped back up to her feet to launch yet another attack when she saw a struggling figure in the arms of the large man that exited the house behind her.

FUCK! 

“LEMME GO!” Ron was kicking against the tall, thick body of Fenrir Greyback, and it was a sad and futile effort to behold. His eyes were wide, his wand was already captured, and his face was red with wasted efforts as he screamed. But apparently, he wasn’t dead yet.

Loud popping sounds rang out around and behind her – she gasped in shock as thick arms wrapped around her waist and a hairy hand closed over her wand hand.

They have apparition permission through the wards!?

Her body reacted on instinct. She drove her head back and smashed the face of the man who had grabbed her off the ground. Her vision swirled, but she managed to tug her wand free from his grasp with the distraction. 

Her shield was still active. It was fading, but with it still in place, so she could slice the man open behind her without risking her own safety – and that was exactly what she did. The sickening sound of flesh splitting open behind her rang through her ears as she dropped to the ground. She heard the heavy thump of the body fall. She could feel the heat from his blood seeping into the back of her jacket as her shield gave a final flicker and then faded completely.

Apparently, it wasn’t based solely on duration – it also depended on usage, and she had been pummeled only seconds ago by varying amounts of debris. They’d never tested their shields to this extent before. So she hadn’t known how a constant barrage of attacks would affect it. She fell to her knees and raised her wand.

“STOP! Or I kill your friend!”

The words echoed out across the remains of Xenophilius’s yard, and Hermione instantly stilled. Her heart flooded with panic, her wild eyes flashing as she looked for Harry. He couldn’t have been caught – and a quick glance confirmed that he wasn’t. At least not exactly. Harry was standing frozen on spot to her left, and there were two wands pointed directly at his temple by two very angry looking snatchers. 

Harry was eyeing them from the corner of his gaze, and his wand was twitching in his hand. His long shaggy hair had slid from his ponytail during the explosion, and it hung down just past his shoulders as a dirty, slightly matted mess from the battle. It was coated in blood, hanging over part of his face, and his glasses seemed to be missing. They must have been broken in the explosion. He wouldn’t be able to see well, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to pull out one of his spare pairs without someone attacking her.

She felt her heart sink as her eyes shifted across the mess toward the voice, knowing that it was only Ron who had been captured. Fenrir stood more than ten feet away. His hand now wrapped tightly around Ron’s throat. His nails were digging into the boy’s skin and turning his words into strangled cries of pain. His wand was pointed to the redhead’s temple, and a sick look of joy covered his face. 

He could give Bellatrix a run for her money.

Two more men stood before her. Their wands were aimed at her face, but she didn’t feel fear as she struggled to catch her breath. Her wand shook in her grip as her eyes darted between them – assessing every possible option for how to continue. Yet the only conclusion that she seemed able to reach was that they were out-numbered, handicapped, and they were thoroughly fucked.

Her heart raced as she rapidly ran the scenarios. 

If she attacked one of the men before her, the second would surely kill or stun her. She no longer had a shield for protection, and at this close of range, it was unlikely that the snatchers would miss. She doubted that Harry still had his shield either, so if he attacked the first man beside him, the second would counter him as well.

While she and Harry were fast and could produce an impressively quick succession of spells, she doubted that even they could launch  two  consecutive attacks at  two  different targets that were more than four feet apart  without  suffering a counter blow when their attacker’s wands were mere inches from their faces. They had never practiced attacking two separate targets at once, and they had not anticipated being surrounded so extensively without having their shields engaged.

With both of them being so closely held at wand point, they would not be able to disarm or neutralize every opponent around them without getting injured. Therefore, the only way they could successfully attack would be to recast their shields first before attacking. If she and Harry quickly recast their shields, they would be able to reengage in battle and attack effectively. But before they got anywhere near Ron, Fenrir would kill him or apparate him away for questioning. 

Hermione paused in her analysis as she examined that point.

No,  she thought.  If they were going to kill Ron, they would have done it  already.

The threat on his life was a ploy. It was a tactic to get them to stop fighting because they were wanted for questioning – desperately so, by the looks of it. She and Harry had killed how many of their men so far? Three? Four? She’d lost count because it wasn’t an important detail, and yet everything that these snatchers had thrown at them thus far wasn’t lethal. Every spell in the onslaught was stunners, chains, binding curses and leglockers. Not a single deadly or dangerous curse had been hurled their way despite the fact that she and Harry had blatantly dismembered members of their team.

Perhaps it was because Xenophilius had delayed them? Perhaps these men were under orders from someone of a much higher rank and were bound to follow directions? Maybe they weren’t allowed to harm potential captives? Or maybe, she and Harry were assumed to be valuable captives? Or, and she hoped this wasn’t the case, they knew  exactly  who they were already.

Harry must have realized this too, and it was the only reason why he was currently unmoving. He was calculating. The blatant visible anger and frustration across the faces of the snatchers before them was just more proof on the matter. Something was holding them back, something far more powerful than their own willpower or preferences. Really the only remaining question was: did they actually know who Harry was? 

And it was the only question that mattered now.

She had no doubt in her mind now that Fenrir, regardless of what he  wanted  to do, would not kill Ron. At least not yet. And that meant that their worst fear of him being captured and exposing their secret mission was coming true. She could feel the tightness across her chest return as her jaw clenched harder. Everything was unravelling. Everything was falling apart.

They would take Ron away, and they would tear through his mind in exactly the way that they had anticipated. It didn’t matter that Hermione and Harry could simply recast their shields, disengage and make a run for the wards. They would make it, she didn’t have a doubt in her mind about that, but it didn’t solve the problem. 

The problem was  Ron . 

Regardless of what she and Harry did from this point forward, Ron would be taken in for questioning, and as a result, their mission would fail. He wouldn’t be able to withstand the torture, and their chances of defeating  You Know Who  would instantly decrease from low to impossible.

Anger burned in her throat as her eyes flicked back to Ron, who was struggling feebly against Fenrir’s firm grip. He was looking at her desperately, trying to call out. He looked scared.

Her fist clenched.

They had been outmatched, and their loss was entirely his fault. She wondered if he even had the capacity to realize it or if he was still completely ignorant to the giant chasm that was the difference in their skill. Had he seen the man behind her get sliced in half? Did he know that she’d done it? 

The worst part of everything was knowing that had Ron not been here, she and Harry would have already been back to the safety of the north. Instead, they stood at a standstill while they weighed their options. She re-ran the scenarios once more in her head to confirm, and she drew the same conclusion. 

There was only one solution to this problem.

They surrender and submit themselves to whatever questioning might come, all while looking for a future opportunity to escape together. If she attempted to kill or obliviate Ron now, thereby cutting their losses so that she and Harry could escape safely – it wouldn’t work. Once she cast the spell, she’d be instantly stunned. Harry would have to cast a shield charm at the exact moment she made her strike, and then he would have to battle all four remaining snatchers  and  Fenrir  and  collect her body  and  escape. Besides – she didn’t have a clear shot at Ron from their position, and she couldn’t cast  obliviate  without moving her wand. It would be a dead giveaway. If she shielded first, Fenrir would leave. They could track Ron’s coin, maybe, depending on how far they went. But by the time they got to him, they’d have already started the interrogation. 

Ron was weak-minded. 

It wouldn’t take long for them to find what they wanted.

Her eyes flicked to Harry, and she caught his gaze for a split second before looking away. Yet in that brief moment, she saw it. Defeat. He knew it too. He had reached the same inevitable conclusion, and the tiny shake of his head answered the only question she had. 

He didn’t have a clean shot of Ron either. 

If he attempted a strike, it would miss, and Fenrir would apparate away while the remaining snatchers attacked.

They were done.

She let out a low sigh, and at the sound, she could see Harry’s shoulders lower as his face tightened. She’d just told him that she couldn’t do it either, not without running the same risk that he would if he were to try it. Slowly, they both began lowering their wands, only to have the snatchers rip them out of their hands.

“Good,” the taller dark-haired snatchers before her said, though his body didn’t relax in the slightest. He continued to eye her with a combination of disgust and wariness. “Two on each person, don’t lower your wands for a damn second – you saw what they did. I want them bound and silenced! NOW!”

Tight bindings of rope formed around her middle, forcing her arms to her sides and restricting her breathing into low shallow gasps. Two silencing spells rang out across the cool morning air as she and Harry were grabbed roughly by the back of the neck. She would no longer be able to obliviate Ron or cast her shield – she’d not managed to master those wandlessly yet. She could still disarm and attack the snatchers, sure, but why bother? They would need to wait until they could get their hands on Ron, literally, and then make an attack before immediately escaping.

“Alright,” the taller snatcher called out once he determined that Hermione and Harry were sufficiently restrained. His eyes never left her. His wand never moved from her forehead as she felt the wand from the second snatcher dig into her shoulder blades. “To the Manor,  NOW ! I want to know who the FUCK these people are and why the hell Xenophilius felt the need to prevent our arrival for so long!”

Hope split across her chest at his words, and she forced herself to maintain a resigned expression.

So they don’t know who Harry is!

There was still a chance that they could escape without it being discovered. They just need a second, just a blip in their captives’ concentration or an opening outside of anti-apparition wards to do it.

Suddenly a familiar tug pulled behind her naval, and she felt her body being squished. The air in her lungs compressed. She felt like she was choking on her tongue from the pressure of the ropes across her chest. It was by far one of the worst apparitions she had endured.

When the violent twisting world finally slowed, she staggered. This man, whoever he was, was terrible at side-alongs, and the binding ropes nearly made her pass out. She was lucky she hadn’t been splinched in the process. Before a millisecond had passed, before she could even process a full thought or realize that it was raining, she was shoved roughly through a large metal gate, and she stumbled to her knees on the muddy gravel path. Her skin scraped, then she was jerked up from the ground once more as a snatcher grabbed her neck.

“On your  fucking  feet, bitch!” The man behind her hissed in her ear.

She clenched her jaw, burying the anger that coursed through her veins as she was shoved forwards. Despite the disorientation from the choppy apparition, she had not missed the tingle that touched her skin as she crossed the gate.

More anti-apparition wards .

They were not going anywhere.

She turned her head to glance at Harry. He was grimacing as well now. H had obviously noticed the wards too, unlike Ron, who just continued to struggle stupidly against a man two times his size. If he didn’t stop, he was actually going to die. Fenrir could rip his throat out with his bare hands with minimal energy. 

They hadn’t silenced him, which was curious. Maybe they didn’t view him as a threat?

She moved awkwardly along the path, her soaked and muddy shoes scuffing across the wet gravel as the snatcher behind her seemed to take joy in pushing her forwards roughly before abruptly yanking her back, so she staggered every few steps. If the opportunity came up – she would kill him too.

Meanwhile, the taller snatcher, who seemed to be some sort of leader, stayed at her side and never looked away.

After several more jerky steps, she glanced back to Harry once more. His long, wet, and dishevelled hair was still hiding his scar. These idiots had been distracted by the battle and by the fact that Xenophilius had protected them and prevented their arrival. They had not searched them for any identification or asked them anything yet, and Harry looked  nothing  like his wanted photo. Neither did she, for that matter, but whoever was in charge of this initiative would – and they would instantly know that this was Harry despite the grimy appearance. 

Dread filled her heart as a new wave of panic hit. She could taste the bile at the back of her throat.

No! No, no, no, no, no, NO!  She thought desperately, tears stinging at the corner of her eyes. She felt like she was being stabbed in the chest.  This can’t be happening .  They cannot have him! THEY CANNOT HAVE HIM! I WILL NOT LET THEM! He will not die. HE WILL NOT DIE!! I won’t let it happen!

Without a second thought, she allowed the sharp shove from the snatcher behind her to throw her off balance. She directed her stumble to the side, rolling her ankle in the process and trying to fall toward Harry. The snatcher behind her yelled and tightened his grip on her neck. His nails dug deeply into her skin, but not before her head tapped Harry’s shoulder, and she sent a silent stinging jinx at his down-turned face. She was jerked upright roughly as Harry then stumbled and fell to his knees.

“Get her away from him!” The taller snatcher yelled, and she was immediately pulled back into the other snatcher’s tight grip. “Get him up! What the fuck happened?!”

Harry had not made a sound as he fell, despite the undeniable sting of the spell, and his body remained tense as he was pulled up from the ground roughly by his own two snatchers.

“I don’t know, Scabior – he must have just tripped over her?” Harry’s large snatcher said, though his expression looked fearful.

“Well, move him forward. Keep them apart – I don’t want to take any chances. Xenophilius tried to shelter them for over ten minutes – so they must be someone important.”

“Alright, alright – I got him, okay,” the large snatcher mumbled as he shoved Harry forward in front of Hermione and maintained a strong grip on him.

Greyback continued at the front of the procession, seemingly indifferent to the struggles behind him and drawing amusement from tormenting Ron and making him squirm in pain. Hermione could hear his low growl of a chuckle each time Ron let out a desperate cry. They continued on for another long minute, the heavy rain soaking through her clothes and causing her hair to stick to her face until they rounded a collection of trees and a large Manor came into view. Hermione’s heart plummeted. She felt a wave of sickness wash over her.

We should have just left him . 

Fear gripped her soul as her waterlogged limps were forced forward through the mud, and nails bit into her neck. 

We should have risked it. I should have sent him back. I should have just obliviated it all. Anything, I should have done anything but this.

They had been brought to Malfoy Manor, and they were fucked.

Completely. Utterly. Fucked.

Warnings:

This chapter contains: Graphic depiction of torture, violence, blood, gore, cutting, cruciatus curse usage, explicit language and many other unpleasant things that may be triggering.

Nothing was written in excess or for shock value, but some may find this chapter difficult and/or upsetting to read. As such, I have placed a two-sentence summary at the bottom of the chapter so that you can skip it if you wish.

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Harry stood rigid before the large wooden doors of the Manor. Even without his glasses, he could tell that the doors were solid, thick, expensive, and laced with intricate details. In the dim, rainy morning light, he could make out what seemed to be more than two dozen different windows just on the left side of the mansion.

This place was huge.

It was no wonder that Draco was such a pompous, arrogant asshole. Growing up in a castle while being told every day that you are better than everyone else around you would inevitably result in you becoming a giant prick. 

He kept his eyes downcast, only sneaking glances from behind the curtain of sopping wet, dirty hair that hung down over his now contorted face. It stung. It stung like a bitch – but he wished that he could have hugged Hermione for her brilliant quick thinking. He had been trying to figure out what to do from the moment they arrived, but it was impossible to hex oneself in the face with a stinging jinx.

Now, at least the scar on his forehead was hidden, and he wasn’t walking around like a billboard advertising who he was. And given the fact that his head wasn’t exploding with agony, he figured it was safe to assume that Voldemort wasn’t around today. At least not yet. So they might yet still have a small chance at getting away if they could survive questioning and watch for an opening. Thankfully, his glasses had been smashed in the explosion, which also helped make him less recognizable. However, not seeing clearly would handicap his ability to fight if they engaged in another skirmish. It was part of the reason why he had indicated to Hermione that there was no way he could have hit Ron. With his poor vision and blocked aim, it was an impossible task. Frankly, he was astounded that he’d been as proficient as he had been at Lovegood’s. If he wasn’t so intimately familiar with Hermione’s body, how she moved, and the way that she dodged in liquid fashion, he might have accidentally hit her in the battle.

He bit back a sigh as his gaze travelled to the redhead.

Ron, the absolute fucking moron who he planned to deal with the second they got out of here, was still struggling against Greyback – though the majority of his noises now gurgled deep at the back of his throat. He could see the odd kick of the boy’s legs as Greyback knocked heavily on the great wooden doors. Silently, Harry hoped that Ron would just choke himself out, maybe even suffocate. It would spare him the turmoil of deciding whether to obliviate or kill him later. Though, he doubted he would be so lucky. Life didn’t work like that for him and Hermione. Instead, it would take everything that it could from them and leave them broken, beaten, and battered.

He couldn’t see Hermione anymore. She was still behind him, being kept a few feet back from him, but he knew that the disgusting piece of trash that held her was enjoying it far too much. He clenched his hands at his sides and took another shallow breath. The ropes around him burned at the flesh that they touched. He could feel it against his wrists and across his collar. He wondered if Hermione’s were the same. He wished he could talk to her. He wished that they had a way to communicate silently. It was something that he would ask her about if they didn’t die in the next few hours.

Finally, the door opened, and he could make out the slender frame of someone standing in the dim light of the entranceway, but he didn’t know who it was.

Fucking bullshit eyesight, he groaned internally.

“What is this?” The figure at the door asked. The voice was female. It was familiar, but he had only ever heard it a few times. He wracked his brain and squinted his eyes to try and see. “Where did you find them?”

“They were visiting our dear friend, Xenophilius,” Scabior said from behind Harry. “Though for some reason – the man felt the need to try and keep that secret. So, we collected them up and brought them in – as instructed.”

Harry noticed the bitterness in the man’s voice at the last word. He had suspected that these men were operating under the direct orders of someone else. They had to be; otherwise, they would have been hurling more than stunners during their fight. Now it had been confirmed, and clearly, they were not too happy about it.

“Is this all of them – or did you leave any behind?” The words were harsher. Cold, as if asking something slightly different than the words spoken.

Greyback growled. “You know damn well we can’t, Narcissa – you fucking made sure of that, didn’t you.”

“It was only these three,” Scabior said, ignoring Greyback and taking a step forward. “Still in one piece, as directed – though we lost four of our men because of you. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“The guidelines for processing young captives isn’t your job, Scabior,” Narcissa said in a clipped tone, her words echoing out harshly into the rain. “Your role is to collect and not ask questions. It is the order of the Dark Lord himself. If you are unhappy with it, I suggest you take it up with him directly.”

Silence filled the space between the snatchers as Narcissa stood firmly in the doorway for a long moment before she stepped aside and opened the door fully.

“Into the front drawing-room, on your right – remove their silencing, and then you’ll receive your payment.”

Harry’s feet moved forward from the rough shove against his neck, and he passed through the door behind Ron. As he moved past Narcissa, he cocked his head to the side and took her in. She was well dressed, tall, looking as regal as ever, and she was staring at him with a blank expression while her eyes followed him through the door. The front entryway was large, but it was nothing in comparison to the room on the right that he was shoved into behind Ron.

Morning light began to shine in through the windows, and it highlighted the spotless dark wooden floors, a glowing fireplace, a large glittering chandelier, and several sitting chairs and bookshelves. If not for the fact that they were in Draco Malfoy’s house – the place where Voldemort spent a good majority of his time – he might have considered the home pleasant, well decorated even. However, given the situation, it just felt foreboding, and it smelt of lingering death.

How many others have been brought here? He wondered as he was shoved forward some more to stand in line next to Ron.

His eyes flicked to Hermione once he was turned back to face the doorway. He could see her limping into the room, and he felt his anger flare once more. The disgusting pig who held her had his arm wrapped far too possessively around her waist. It was too low on her hips, and he looked like he was enjoying holding her close against him. It made Harry’s stomach roll, but he kept his jaw clenched carefully shut despite the fact that the silencing charm had been removed. 

They were still outnumbered, wandless, and unable to apparate to safety. Now was not the time to do anything rash, and reacting would only put Hermione in more danger.

Narcissa followed behind her and closed the door to the room. “Who do we have?”

“We don’t know who yet,” Scabior said bitterly. “In case you forgot what I just fucking said – they took out FOUR of our men, snapping them like twigs! We were more focused on disarming them and bringing them here than interrogating them.”

“Well then, perhaps you should look for better recruits if three teenagers can overpower you in a matter of minutes.”

Greyback growled, and his hand tightened on Ron’s neck. “You didn’t see what they did. They obliterated them.”

“Well, it’s no matter now,” Narcissa cut him off quickly and stepped forward. Her blank eyes never left Harry as she spoke. “We’ll get this sorted out and–”

The door to the room burst open, and a small cackle filled the air. Harry felt his blood run cold. He knew that laugh. He heard it in the back of his head every time he thought of Sirius.

“Oh Cissy, what a wonderful collection we have here today,” Bellatrix said, her dark whisper filling the room. Harry felt the snatcher behind him tense. She made her way across the space to stand before them, her eyes devouring them like they were a delicious meal before they began to widen with visible excitement. “I’ve asked your dear husband to join us – and from what I see so far… this looks like a promising bunch.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Bellatrix,” Narcissa said, her gaze flicking between her sister to the door as her husband slowly entered. Lucius made his way over to the fireplace and leaned against it heavily. The way his body sagged made Harry think he might have been injured. “We haven’t confirmed who they are yet.”

“Oh please!” Bellatrix laughed with a bark that made half the room flinch. “They might be idiots, but I am NOT! This, my dear sister, is them. I know it is. I can feel it… the trio – a redhead, a dirty mudblood with hair like a wretched beast’s, and – Potter. Our golden boy. We shall call the Dark Lord, and we shall be rewarded for turning him over–”

“Absolutely not,” Narcissa cut her off and stepped forward. Her next words were hissed in a low whisper though she kept her face indifferent. “Do you forget what happened last week, Bellatrix? We will not call the Dark Lord until we are certain – or this time, he will not be so forgiving.”

Bellatrix scowled, but the fear in her eyes was evident. She rolled her eyes to play it off and tossed her hair over her shoulders. 

“Fine, Cissy,” she crooned. “Always so proper and diligent – then what do you suggest we do?”

“I was just about to search them,” Narcissa replied stiffly, moving toward Hermione as she started patting her down and casting summoning spells. 

Her purse was the first thing to be collected, and Narcissa opened it curiously before continuing the remainder of her search.

“We could summon Draco,” Lucius offered quietly from the fireplace, he was attempting to keep his voice powerful and strong, but he appeared completely the opposite. “He did attend school with them for six years – I have no doubt that he would be able to identify them.”

“I will summon him.” Narcissa nodded, her hands moving quickly over Hermione’s small frame. “We can summon Severus as well.”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Bellatrix all but screeched as she moved before Harry and grabbed his face. “Summon Draco, but leave him out of it!”

Harry clenched his jaw, biting back the urge to snap at her fingers with his teeth as she pushed his dirty hair back from his face and tried to peer at his forehead. Her hands were frigid like death, and her nails dug into his skin as she tried to smooth out the wrinkles above his eyes to see if there was a scar.

“What happened to his face?” Bellatrix ignored her sister’s movement as she bypassed them to move toward Ron while Bellatrix continued to inspect him.

“I don’t know,” Scabior said stiffly. “He wasn’t like that when we caught him, something must have happened when we apparated.”

“Useless,” Bellatrix snarled as she shoved Harry’s head back against the large snatcher behind him and turned to glare at her sister, who was now moving over to inspect Harry. The crazed witch looked livid as her wand twitched anxiously in her hand, and she circled before them like an animal ready to attack. “Was there a scar on his forehead before you apparated? Or were you too stupid to take note of that as well?”

“It was made abundantly clear that we were to collect only. Your sister made sure of that!” Scabior growled, stepping forward in anger. “So how about you just pay us our fucking money so we can be on our way.”

Bellatrix raised her wand and pointed it at the man as a sickening smile curled across her lips, and a disturbing whisper hissed through her teeth. “Oh, give me a reason – just one would be enough. No one would miss you.”

“Bellatrix!” Narcissa’s calm voice cut across the room as she finished patting down Harry’s pockets and pulling out their contents. He could feel her magic as it searched through his clothes, looking for anything that might be hidden, but she avoided his eyes as she searched him.

“Fine, fine – so overdramatic, Cissy,” Bellatrix pouted and twirled her wand back to her side. “Now… who do we question first.”

She eyed them all, moving before Ron, grabbing his face and inspecting him in a similar fashion to how she had just examined Harry. Seeming unsatisfied, she shoved him away roughly and moved to Hermione. The second she grabbed her chin, Ron cried out.

“DON’T TOUCH HER!”

A smile curled across Bellatrix’s lips once more, and a low chuckle escaped her as her grip tightened on Hermione’s chin. “Oh, I think we know the answer to that now.”

Harry bit his tongue so hard it started to bleed, his hands clenched tight at his sides, and he glared at Ron.

YOU FUCKING IDIOT! He internally screamed as he tried to catch the redhead’s attention to tell him to shut up without saying it aloud. 

Any noise he made or any reaction he showed would only make it worse. How did Ron not know this? It was like he wanted Hermione to be tortured – like he wanted her to suffer. How thick could a person be? Did he have no common sense whatsoever?

“STOP – DON’T TOUCH–“Ron’s voice was cut off, and he went silent as Narcissa hit him with a silencing spell. He still struggled against Greyback’s hold, only for his eyes to bulge as the werewolf’s grip tightened.

“I think we are more than done with that,” Narcissa said coldly, her eyes darting quickly to Hermione, who was practically pasted to the snatcher behind her before she returned her gaze to Greyback. “Bind him like the others before you strangle him, Greyback. Bellatrix, we need to go through their belongings first – there might be something in there that–”

“Surely that is something that Lucius could do,” Bellatrix sighed with an overdramatic roll of her eyes. Yet she obeyed her sister and dropped Hermione’s chin, slapping her roughly on the cheek before leaning in with a whisper. “I’ll come back for you soon.”

Harry wondered what must have happened ‘last time’ for Bellatrix to abandon the idea of torturing someone so easily to search a bag instead. It must have been pretty bad if she was willing to delay her favourite activity, and he wondered if it was related to Lucius’ slumped form and quiet disposition. Usually, the man would be thrilled at an opportunity to harass potential muggleborns and ‘muggle lovers’, but instead, he remained steadfast by the fireplace with his mouth shut in a tight grim line. 

Bellatrix roughly pulled the bag from Narcissa’s grip and tapped the opening with her wand, lazily summoning out different odds and ends as Narcissa eyed the snatcher that held Hermione with an unreadable empty look. Though, the woman’s eyes darted to the man’s hand that was moving disgustingly across her body.

“I’ll get your payment so you may leave,” Narcissa said tightly, moving to her husband and outstretching her hand. Harry saw Lucius pull out a small pouch from inside his robes and hand it to his wife. His arm trembled as he did so, and it only further confirmed Harry’s suspicion that he was unwell.

“Instead of my usual fee – I would like to keep the girl,” the snatcher behind Hermione said. 

Harry’s stomach rolled as he saw the man’s hand slip dangerously low on Hermione’s hip, trailing down her side and along her leg. His mouth was pressed against her ear as he pulled her close to his body. Hermione’s eyes narrowed into slits and her body tensed against him, but she kept her mouth clenched tight.

Bellatrix snorted as she pulled another book from the purse, not really paying attention to the contents or caring what was inside it. “You want a mudblood for a toy? You truly are a disgusting bunch, the lot of you. But fine – you can have her when I’m done.”

Ron jerked violently against his binds next to Harry.

“No,” Narcissa said firmly as she strolled forward with a bag of what Harry could only assume was coin.

“And why not, dear Cissy? We have more than enough mouths to feed here already – give her to the dogs,” Bellatrix said dramatically as she continued pulling items from Hermione’s purse. Harry saw his broken shard of glass float to the ground as the teapot followed. Then she smiled wickedly. “Or were you and Lucius planning to experiment later? Developed a taste for something more exotic, have we?”

“Don’t be vile, Bellatrix,” Narcissa snapped. “You know the rules – they are to be kept undamaged in case they are needed later.”

Bellatrix rolled her eyes yet again and pulled another book from the purse, not bothering to drop this one softly and instead letting it fall with a heavy thunk. Thankfully, at least from what Harry could see, so far, nothing of value had left the confines of Hermione’s purse.

“You will take your coin – and only your coin,” Narcissa said darkly, her eyes fixed on the man still holding Hermione. “Now get your h–”

“WHERE DID YOU GET THIS!!!!” Bellatrix screamed, and Harry’s eyes shot toward her.

Her wand was raised. Her shoulders were shaking dangerously. She was pointing her wand at Hermione’s face, and she was holding the Sword of Gryffindor. She dropped the purse to the ground. It fell with a soft thud, landing open and completely forgotten in the rage that devoured Bellatrix attention.

No one moved. The room was stunned silent as Bellatrix’s rage unfurled, and Narcissa’s eyes widened as a calculating look crossed her features. So far, whether intentionally or not, the blonde woman seemed to have been keeping her sister’s sick habits at bay – but Harry doubted that she’d be able to continue to do so now.

“Let me call Draco. I–”

“OUT!” Bellatrix screeched at the snatchers, cutting Narcissa off and stepping forward. “EVERYONE OUT NOW!”

“You still owe us our payment!” Scabior challenged, his voice angry as he stepped forward with his own wand raised.

Bellatrix moved faster than Harry’s fuzzy vision could capture. Ron dropped to the floor with a thud as his body was stunned stiff as a board, and Greyback flew into the wall with a heavy thud. Harry felt his own body go rigid as he dropped face-first to the ground, his nose breaking against the dark wood when he landed. Unable to move his neck, he couldn’t see anything going on around him, but he heard Hermione hit the floor next to him. 

Lights flashed above him as the wands of the snatchers, including the ones that they had taken from them upon their capture, flew around the room. He heard them clattering in the corners as Bellatrix wreaked havoc and screamed at the snatchers to leave. Lucius was yelling. Narcissa was moving before him and casting out binding curses as footsteps echoed across the room until everything finally went silent.

“Take them to the dungeon,” Bellatrix panted, her feet finally moving against the floor toward Narcissa, who stood directly in front of Harry. “Call Draco – this mudblood and I are going to have a chat.”

“Bellatrix, they are to be kept undamaged until we can confirm their use,” Narcissa said quietly, her words a cautious whisper that Harry could barely hear.

“You may have managed to keep them from the dogs because you’re in charge of captives, Cissy,” Bellatrix’s low hiss was barely audible, and Harry had to strain his ears to hear it. “But I am in charge of security around the vault – and I outrank you with everything else. This is mine. Or are you questioning the Dark Lord?”

At Narcissa’s silence, Harry could only assume that she had no response. Or she had spoken so low he couldn’t hear it.

“Your weak stomach and soft-spot for children will be your downfall, Cissy,” Bellatrix breathed. “And it is why you will always answer to me. Take them to the dungeon – now.”

Harry felt himself be levitated a few inches off the floor, he watched as it moved beneath him, and he was transported out of the drawing-room, through the entranceway and down a long dark hallway. The soft click of Narcissa’s heels was the only thing that filled the void as they made their way through the huge mansion and then down a flight of dark, cold steps. They paused at the bottom, and Harry heard Narcissa muttering something though he couldn’t pick up the words. Then the sound of a squeaking metal gate clanged before he was tossed unceremoniously into a dark stone cellar.

A deep tingle crossed his skin as he was thrown over the threshold, and his body became limber once more. The ropes around him vanished, and the body binding came undone. He landed with a hard thud, rolled onto his knees, and quickly turned back toward the entrance in time to see Narcissa shutting the iron-barred gate. Without pausing to think, he tried to hurl a silent stunner at her, and she froze. Then her eyes slowly moved to gaze at his face.

They were curious, hesitant, and afraid. He was a mere foot away from her, separated only by the metal bars, and he could see everything on her face. Her bizarre expression betrayed the blank and indifferent demeanour she’d expressed upstairs. It was the most emotion he had ever seen the woman show. She was opening evaluating him. Her eyes darted over his face as the silence rang painfully through his ears. His heart hammered in his chest, unsure of what was going on as she continued to stare at him, and he stared at her.

“You can do no magic in this dungeon,” she whispered finally. “It will only drain you – save your energy.”

Harry’s heart faltered. He stared at her in disbelief, unsure if he had even heard the words, as Narcissa turned on her heel and quickly made her way back up the steps. The entire exchange felt like it had dragged on for an hour, but it had occurred in under ten seconds, and he felt breathless with confusion as he watched her go.

“Blood hell!” 

The loud groan from Ron echoed through the chamber and instantly cracked Harry out of his daze. He felt a wave of blinding anger surge through his body as he turned toward the redhead that was just pulling himself up from the ground.

“You fucking moron,” Harry swore, the words low, deep, and murderous. They rumbled through his chest as he stalked toward Ron, who was now standing and rubbing his side. Harry grabbed him by the jacket and slammed him against the nearest support column, not batting an eye at the loud thud that echoed around the room as the boy’s head smashed against the wall. “Were you trying to get her killed?!”

“Me?!” Ron hissed in pain as he began trying to grab at Harry’s hands. He was unable to push Harry off, so instead, he just shoved at him roughly. “You didn’t even try to stop them! You didn’t say a thing!! They had her, and it was like you didn’t even care, Harr–”

Harry growled and punched Ron hard in the temple. He let Ron’s body fall from his grasp from the momentum and watched as the redhead hit the ground with a loud thud. His groan echoed throughout the room, and he grabbed at his head in pain. 

It had been an instinctual reaction, and it did nothing to help the problem, but Harry didn’t care. The dumbass was about to say his name out loud. For all they knew, someone could be listening to them right now. But even if they weren’t, he still would have hit him because anger was pouring through him in waves so violent, he couldn’t control it. He wanted to strangle him. He’d never been so angry in his entire life; he felt like puking as he clenched his fists tightly to his sides. 

It was the first time in his life he genuinely wanted Ron dead.

“Don’t fucking use my name!” Harry seethed, his shoulders heaving as he fought to restrain himself. His voice was so dangerous that Ron froze on the floor before him and looked up at him in terror. “How STUPID are you?! The only thing keeping us alive right now is the fact that they don’t know who we are!”

Though, Harry suspected that Narcissa knew exactly who he was, and that raised another round of questions that he did not have the time or brain capacity to address. Right now, the only thing that was circling through his mind was Hermione. And all he cared about was what was going to happen to her. His stomach twisted as horrible images flooded his mind, and his fists clenched tighter. It was taking every ounce of his remaining self-control not to murder Ron with his bare hands.

If he was able to use magic, he would have gutted Ron right then and there, without a second thought and without caring about the repercussions. After the war, if he was trialled for the murder of an Order member, he would have proudly raised his hand to confirm that he did it. He would have volunteered the memories too – just to show them how the pieces hit the floor. The wards on the dungeon were the only reason why Ron was still alive.

“I didn’t say anything because the more you react, the more they respond – they were looking for our weaknesses! Do you seriously think that she will give them information?! NO! You – stupid – mother – fucker!” His voice hissed out in a deadly whisper. Ron had begun to inch away from him on the floor, and Harry hadn’t realized that he’d taken another two steps forward. “They picked her because YOU reacted! YOU will be brought up there next because now they know that you will give them what they want once you hear her screaming! She’s going to be tortured because of YOU! BECAUSE THEY KNOW IT WILL HURT YOU! BECAUSE YOU COULDN’T KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! BECAUSE YOU DON’T FUCKING THINK! FUCKING HELL!! I WILL KILL YOU IF SHE DIES!!”

Harry turned and punched the column to his right with his left hand so hard that Ron ducked instinctively before him. The boy’s eyes were wide with fear, mouth hanging open in shock as he watched Harry lose it from his cowered position on the ground.

A sickening crunch split through the dark room. Pain shot up Harry’s hand like fire as he screamed with rage and sunk to his knees. A low, vicious growl cut through his throat as agony overtook him, and he held back a wretched sob in his chest. He threaded his hands into his hair and inhaled sharply as the pain scorched down his arm to his shoulder. He’d done it to stop himself from killing the coward that shivered on the floor to his left. Because he knew that the pain would distract him, it would force him to refocus on the actual problem of escaping. If he could not control his emotions, he was no better than Ron.

He would put them at risk.

It was stupid, he knew. His hands had more than a few broken bones, and it would be hardly useable until he could heal it – but he just could not bring himself to care. He felt like his heart was breaking in his chest as the world fell apart around him. He couldn’t do this without her. He couldn’t lose her – he couldn’t, he wouldn’t. And if she died, he would die too. He would never be the same. He would never survive this war. He’d finish it, sure – but it would destroy him.

He dropped his head and let the air out of his lungs. He needed to calm down. He needed to think. He needed to ignore Ron. Ron was nothing. He needed to come up with a plan of escape. 

He wiped his definitely broken hand across his probably broken nose, the blood from his collision with the floor smearing on his cheek and covering his still wet sleeve. He forced himself to breathe slowly, in then out, and each shaky gulp of air stung painfully in his chest as he desperately tried to bury the terror that was threatening to consume him. He continued the process with his eyes clenched shut until his hands stopped shaking.

“Is it you?” A familiar yet timid voice rang out behind him, and Harry flinched at the sound. He turned around quickly, standing to his feet and squinting into the darkness at the approaching figure.

“Luna?” His eyes widened as she approached in the dim light. Her features were fuzzy, but her white-blonde hair was unmistakable even in the dark.

“Yes.” She nodded, approached him carefully. Her calm eyes focused on his as she took slow, tentative steps toward him.

She stopped about a foot away, eyes never leaving his. There was no terror or fear in her gaze as she watched him. Only an odd look of understanding and comfort, and he felt his heart ache. Of course it would be Luna who did not fear him or his outburst of rage and instead gazed at him with only trust and understanding. She’d always been openly accepting of people no matter the situation. She gave him a faint smile, then took another small step forward into the light from the door, and Harry felt his face crumple.

Even without his glasses, he could see the sharp edge of her cheekbones. Her hair was dull, much like her father’s, and there was a deep bruise that covered her cheek. She looked like a bag of bones. Her clothes hung loosely off her frame, and dark circles ringed around her eyes. Her body seemed to quiver constantly from the chill of the dungeon. She looked absolutely terrible, and Harry felt the anger seep from his body as if someone had pulled the plug on a tub and his breath caught across his chest.

“How did you get here?” He murmured. The words fell easily from his lips, but they sounded broken.

Talking to Luna had always come easy to him in the past, and that fact did not seem to change regardless of his newly acquired social anxiety. She made him feel comfortable, she always had, and he found focusing on her made his rage toward Ron drain even faster. She was the reason he and Hermione were fighting this war – people like Luna. Their friends. The decent people in the world who deserved a chance to live free. They were the people who needed him to calm down so he could get out of this Manor and continue destroying Horcruxes.

“I was pulled off the train at Christmas,” she said slowly, her eyes moving curiously over his face in their typical mystical manner. She raised a tentative hand toward his head, inching it slowly closer until she brushed the hair from his forehead. Harry flinched at her touch, but he didn’t pull away and instead allowed her to take in his appearance. “Stinging jinx?”

“Yes.” The word came out as a whisper, and his heart rate slowed to normal once more.

“Smart.” She smiled again, much more firmly this time. Then she dropped her hand to his shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. The touch felt weird, foreign. The only one who ever touched him now was Hermione, and yet the warmth that Luna was radiated towards him felt so nonjudgmental and safe that he couldn’t help but take it in in hopes of calming his own nerves further. “She always was very clever – she’ll be okay.”

Harry felt his steel heart crack once more, and his eye twitched. “Yes, she will.”

“Dean is here too – and Mr. Ollivander and Griphook,” Luna said quickly, removing her hand from Harry and stepping back. 

It was like she could tell that he had finally calmed to a rational level, so she moved toward Ron and offered him her hand. He had been sitting on the cold floor holding his now swollen temple watching the exchange with a bizarre scowling expression. Begrudgingly he accepted her hand and stood to his feet, then stepped back to lean against the wall. 

“They’re near the back,” Luna said, gesturing with her head. “I think that Mr. Ollivander is still sleeping.”

Harry heard the sound of scuffing footsteps approaching against the low echo of the voices from the parlour above, and he saw the tall thin frame of Dean appear, but he couldn’t make out the others in the darkness without his glasses. Dean stopped a few feet before him and stood awkwardly, his hand gripping his opposite arm as he fixed Harry with a wary expression. He looked afraid, hesitant. Harry suspected it had something to do with the exchange he’d just had with Ron.

“You look like shit,” Dean said quietly, an uncertain smile brushing across his lips after a long pause lingered between them.

“So do you,” Harry snorted, offering the battered-looking boy a grimace and hoping that it might appear at least a small amount reassuring. He had no fight with Dean, and it was strange to see the boy looking at him so fearfully. “How long have you been here?”

“Since autumn.”

“Autumn? That’s a long ti–”

A long blood-curdling scream echoed throughout the house, and Harry froze mid-sentence. It was unmistakable. It was gruesome, and it made his blood turn to ice. 

A shiver slid down his spine as his body tensed, and the sound rang out endlessly, impossibly continuous as if powered by an infinite amount of air. Luna shuddered before him and clasped her hands over her ears. She was shaking more violently now, and Dean quickly put an arm around her. Harry turned back to the entrance as the taste of blood and bile mixed in his mouth.

Hermione was being tortured, and she sounded like she was dying.

-x-x-

When Hermione fell to the floor, a small part of her was grateful. Despite the fact that her cheekbone likely shattered on impact, at least it removed her from the disgusting snatcher’s claws – he had been inching his way closer to the hem of her pants with every second that passed, and thinking about what could have happened made her sick. 

From where she fell, she watched what she could as Bellatrix hurled curses like a whirlwind, screaming at the snatchers and unleashing her wrath. Her face landed facing Harry and Narcissa’s boots. She saw the witch collect her wand from the floor and heard the disgusting crunch of Harry’s face as it collided with the floor. His nose would be shattered from the collision.

Her relief vanished instantly the second that Narcissa was directed to remove Harry and Ron from the room, because now she was left alone with three stunned snatchers, Lucius, and the deranged Bellatrix Lestrange. Who was panting heavily, her eyes blazing as she threw the sword to the ground and approached her like a lion would approach an injured gazelle.

“Well,” she said slowly, a tone of crazy in her voice as she loftily strolled over to Hermione, flipping her over onto her back with her wand. “Now that that’s been taken care of – we can get some things cleared up.”

“Bellatrix,” Lucius’ voice cut in nervously. “If we wait for Narcissa to call Draco, surely he can confirm if–”

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHO THEY ARE!!” Bellatrix screeched as she turned toward Lucius; her wand shook with rage. “I WANT TO KNOW HOW THE FUCK THEY GOT INTO MY VAULT! AND HOW THEY GOT THE SWORD!”

Lucius flinched at her voice and shrank back against the fireplace with a stumble. His eyes darted between Bellatrix and Hermione’s small form on his drawing-room floor, but he did nothing.

“So, let me ask you again, mudblood.” Bellatrix returned her attention to Hermione, her body shaking with anger. “How did you get that sword?”

Hermione laid unmoving despite the fact that the body binding curse had been removed. She fixed her eyes on Bellatrix as she watched the demented woman drop to kneel by her side. It didn’t matter what she said – Bellatrix would never believe any of the words that came out of her mouth. She knew that she would be tortured regardless. And it would happen so that Ron and Harry could hear it, and then they would be brought up for questioning. She knew this with every fiber of her being, and she desperately hoped that Harry was working on a means of escape. She trusted herself to stay quiet. She knew that she would never betray Harry or their mission – but she did not trust Ron to keep his mouth shut if they brought him upstairs again.

He had already failed to do so since their arrival, and his uncontrolled outburst had condemned her to what was about to come.

“ANSWER THE QUESTION!” Bellatrix spat as she closed the distance between them and grabbed Hermione by the neck. Hermione could feel the woman’s nails leaving marks next to the ones made by the snatcher only moments ago.

“We found it,” Hermione whispered hoarsely, unable to breathe with Bellatrix gripping her like death.

“BULLSHIT!”

“We did – we just found it,” she answered before drawing in a ragged breath, then sputtered as Bellatrix pulled her head up from the floor only to slam it back against the ground. Black spots clouded her vision, and she groaned and tried to draw in more air.

“She can’t answer the question if you are choking her silent, Bellatrix,” Narcissa said. She had returned swiftly, and her robes swished past Hermione’s view as she came to stand a few feet away from Bellatrix’s hunched form. Her expression was wary, and her words cautious as if worried that she might make matters worse.

“Too right you are,” Bellatrix whispered in a low and dark tone. “But she is lying – I can see it in her eyes.”

“If we summon Severus, he can perform legilimency on her to–”

“NO!” Bellatrix screamed again, slamming Hermione’s head once more into the ground in punctuation. “There are other ways of making people talk, Cissy. Summon Draco – and get the rat!”

Narcissa hesitated momentarily before exiting the room in another flourish, leaving her husband by the fireplace once more. However, it was glaringly obvious that the man was in pain and wished he was anywhere else. He was desperately looking around the room, focusing on anything but Hermione as she choked again for air.

“Now, let’s see if we can loosen your tongue – perhaps get your friends a bit more willing to talk, yes? I’ll get you to tell the truth while we wait for Draco – crucio!”

Up until this point in her life, Hermione had assumed that being mauled by a werewolf was the most painful thing that anyone could experience. She thought that the physical tearing of her flesh, the thudding agony of dark magic, the blood loss, the shock, and the trauma must be worse than any hex or any spell. 

But she had been wrong. Immensely wrong.

She had clenched her jaw shut in anticipation, fully planning to deny the woman any satisfaction by containing her cries of pain. She refused to feed Bellatrix’s sick, perverted habit of torturing her victims into madness, and she swore to herself that she would not submit to the agony or give this woman anything. But instantly, she realized it was not something that she had any control over. The pain, this pain, was like nothing she had ever experienced before in her life. 

And it consumed her.

Her body tensed. Every muscle and every fiber of her being screamed in pain as her nerves were set on fire. It raced down her spine. It shot through her organs. It rattled through her brain and forced her back to arch. Her body buckled as her mouth flew open against her will, and the most god-awful cry cut through her lips. 

It sounded inhuman; she didn’t even recognize it for the brief moment that she was aware she was making it. Then her brain switched off as it was consumed with the raging inferno that ravaged her like someone was shoving a white-hot poker into every cell that made up her body at exactly the same second. Her legs shook, her arms flailed, and she felt her throat tearing as the muscles in her limbs ripped. It was endless, an eternity. She couldn’t breathe, and yet her cries just kept coming – and then it stopped.

Her body convulsed, she couldn’t feel the motions, but she could hear them as her breath came in horrid gasps, and she desperately tried to pull air into her lungs. Tears poured from her eyes involuntarily, and a sob escaped her lips. Her mind was swimming. She couldn’t see. Bellatrix danced in and out of focus before her, and she barely noticed the sound of Narcissa returning.

“Where did you get the sword!” It was Bellatrix’s voice, she knew it was, but she couldn’t process it, not properly.

Instead of giving a response, a low groan seeped through her lips as her eyes rolled back. Her head thumped hard against the ground for a third time, and her eyes shot wide. She sputtered and gasped, looking around blearily. She could see Lucius by the fireplace – he looked like he was in shock, and Narcissa was standing with a pinched and disturbed expression across her face a few feet back.

“WHERE DID YOU GET THE SWORD?!”

Her eyes flashed back to Bellatrix. Her face was livid, she looked insane with rage, and her grip on her neck was still firm.

“We found it,” the words were a low whisper, and she watched as Bellatrix’s face contorted.

“CRUCIO!”

She screamed again. Her legs shook against the wooden floor so harshly that had Bellatrix not been holding her down by the neck, she surely would have vibrated clear across the hardwoods. She didn’t know how long it lasted or how many times it happened, but each time she refused to say anything else in response, and each time Bellatrix bashed her against the ground and screamed in her face. At some point, she heard footsteps by the door, and her brain registered Draco Malfoy’s voice. She vomited and gagged, though she didn’t remember doing it. She didn’t know if it happened more than once or if it happened continuously, but she could taste it against her tongue. Her heart hammered dangerously fast against her ribs as her body spasmed uncontrollably.

How long have I been here?

The question circled in her head in between each bash against the ground. It felt like an eternity. It felt like she’d lived a lifetime here on the floor, covered in her own vomit, screaming and wailing and gasping for life. The tiny part of her rational brain that remained told her that it must have only been minutes, that it would be impossible for anyone to endure this for anything longer than that. But that voice grew quieter with each spasm, and she found herself lost inside the wreckage of her brain.

After what must have been the fourth time, she coughed, and blood poured from her mouth. She could feel it dripping from her nose and leaking down the edges of her face. She took a long, ragged heave as she felt Bellatrix remove her hand from her throat and her head lolled to the side. It was getting so hard to breathe; her body didn’t want to do it anymore. 

But she was okay with that. 

She could feel her heart slowing in her chest as her lungs started to give out, and her eyes wandered the room off to her left.

Blue. 

All she could see was blue eyes – just two pairs, was one crying? They were watching her, like little glowing balls of light. Then a disturbed sense of humour washed over her body. She snorted, blood spewing from her lips as a mad sound poured from her body. A deranged smile cut across her face, her head rolled back to the ceiling, and her eyes fluttered closed.

Fuck these assholes, her barely conscious brain thought as her eyes rolled beneath her lids and her arms continued to twitch at her sides. I’ll die on your floor. On your perfect fucking floor. I’ll ruin it with my mudblood blood, my filthy filthy blood. I’ll fucking ruin it. It will never be clean.

She wasn’t sure if she’d said the words out loud, she couldn’t distinguish much of anything anymore, but she heard a small noise of a scuffle on her left and then warm hands pressed against the back of her neck. Someone was pouring something down her throat. She tried to push away, but her arms wouldn’t do what she wanted them to, and she coughed and choked. It tasted like… some sort of disgusting pepperup?

Then her eyes shot wide. It felt like someone had rammed a bludger into her heart. Air poured into her lungs as her mouth opened wide, and her spine arched backwards as a cry erupted from her lips. The room swirled back into focus as a rush of warmth filled her body, and her heart began beating more firmly. Narcissa was kneeling beside her, clutching a small empty flask in her hands, and her expression looked angry.

“If you keep this up, she’ll die before we get any information, Bella! She can’t answer the questions if she’s dead! She needs to be lucid – there’s a reason why Severus is in charge of interrogation!” Narcissa shouted over her shoulder before turning back to face Hermione. 

Her eyes looked almost pleading as she continued to grip the back of her neck softly.

“Hermione, think,” she whispered so low that Hermione wasn’t sure she had heard it. Then she spoke her next words much louder. “Where did you get the sword, girl?”

“It’s a copy,” Hermione breathed hoarsely, finding her brain was more functional than it had been a second ago.

Whatever potion Narcissa had given her was like a sharp kick to the gut, like a hit of some drug that amped up her body and forced it to live. Though it clearly didn’t contain any veritaserum, or she wouldn’t have been able to lie. Her eyes darted everywhere as her body trembled, taking in her surroundings properly for the first time in what felt like decades. Draco stood by the doorway looking as if he’d just been sick. Lucius was standing with his back turned, still resting against the fireplace – but now she realized that Scabior and Greyback were awake. They stood off against the far wall while a third snatcher stood frozen near Lucius, his eyes focused firmly on the floor. She still could not move her limbs – her muscles were too torn and tired from the rounds of cruciatus. So, she stared up into Narcissa’s gaze in confusion, unable to rationally process the concern that seemed to be riddled on the woman’s face.

“It’s just a copy,” she repeated more firmly though her voice was still torn. Her eyes searched the woman’s above her, looking for something, anything – but she felt like she was grasping at straws. “We found it – thought it was real. We thought that it might be useful someday, but it’s fake. It can’t even cut a pie.”

She didn’t know why those words poured from her mouth, but they did. They didn’t really even make any sense – was she going mad and trying to be funny? Something strange passed over Narcissa’s face above her.

“Draco, get the goblin!” Bellatrix yelled, then she made her way back over to Hermione and shoved Narcissa aside. She kneeled down to the ground, straddling Hermione’s shaking form and pinning her to the floor once more. Something cold pressed against Hermione’s neck, and her eyes widened. “We’ll know soon enough whether or not you’re lying, mudblood.”

Hermione’s head was forced back by the pressure against her neck. She assumed it must be a blade, and she knew that she should move away from it, but she had nowhere to go since she was pinned against the ground. She bit her lip as she felt it digging into her skin. She tried her best to stifle the cry that came from her lips – but the blade felt no different than the cruciatus before. It burned her from the inside out, and it made her whole body shudder.

“I will make you tell me the truth, mudblood bitch,” Bellatrix whispered, bending low and speaking the words directly into Hermione’s ear. “I will make you scream so loud that they tell us everything.”

Bellatrix pried her left arm away from her body and pinned it to the floor with her knee. Hermione felt the cool air against her skin as she heard the material of her jacket split. She jerked against the woman as hard as she could. She knew what was next, and she desperately tried to pull away only to have Bellatrix jabbed the knife into her shoulder and bash her head into the floor once more. 

An incomprehensible noise gushed from her lips as the dagger burned into her skin and her eyes bleared with fresh tears.

“If I find out you’re lying – I promise you that your death will be slow, excruciating, and everlasting.” Bellatrix finally leaned back and pulled the dagger out with a quick jerk. 

Hermione wailed and rocked beneath the woman as pain radiated from her shoulder throughout her chest. Before the pain subsided, she felt the dagger slice through the flesh on her arm, and she screamed out once more. The blade was cursed. It had to be – cursed with dark magic, and it emanated the same effects as the cruciatus curse that Bellatrix loved so deeply. The knife burned against her skin as mark after mark was made, and Hermione thrashed against her, deep, harrowing snarls pouring from her lungs as the burning ceased to stop.

“Bellatrix!” 

The voice was Draco’s. It was tight and cautious, and it stilled Bellatrix’s motions. Hermione rolled her head to the left heavily, spitting the fresh blood from her mouth to the floor, wishing she could spit it in his face as she gave him a look of death. She cursed him mentally. Cursed his family, his home, his aunt, and everything that these people stood for. He looked terrified, and his eyes flicked down to her arm, which she could not see before he met her eyes once more. 

He hesitated. 

“I have the goblin, as you requested,” Draco said slowly. “Perhaps you would like to question him instead.”

His choice of words was odd, and Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. She would have thought about its significance if she were capable of it, but the burning sensation in her arm thudded like a dull, hard ache, and it made it difficult to focus on coherent or logical thoughts.

“Goblin! The sword on the ground there – is it real?”

The goblin, who was being held at wand point by Draco, hesitated. His eyes darted to Hermione and then back to the floor. Hermione screamed, her body shaking violently against the hardwoods as the knife cut through her skin once more. Her voice broke, and a nauseating gaging sound broke from her chest as her left arm vibrated loudly against the floor. But still, she remained lucid. Still, her heart kept beating. 

The potion that Narcissa had given her was forcing her to stay awake despite the natural need of her body to lose consciousness. No human being was built to withstand such torture. Bodies weren’t designed to process this level of pain – the brain had a built-in fail-safe exactly for that reason: you either went mad, or you blacked out. And right now, her body was prevented from doing either of those things despite the fact that she so desperately wanted to fall back into the blackness that had consumed her before. She was ready to die, after all. She had been for months, and yet now she was incapable of it.

The goblin’s eyes went wide with shock at the sounds pouring from her body. He darted forward, snatching up the sword with shaking hands, looking at it rapidly.

“No!” He said quickly, his eyes moving back to the witch above her. “It’s fake.”

“That was quick,” Bellatrix said lazily as she paused her etchings in Hermione’s arm and flicked a finger toward the goblin. A slice cut across his cheek, and he flinched. “Are you sure? I’d hate to think you were just saying that.”

Bellatrix returned to Hermione’s arm as if to prove a point. Letting the goblin know that his quick diagnostic would not necessarily stop the torture, so he had better do it right. Hermione’s eyes rolled as her throat finally gave out, and her strangled cry was cut short. Her gaze rolled back to her left, and she caught sight of Draco, her rapidly racing brain taking in his hunched posture, his ghastly expression, and the arm that clutched his stomach.

Too cowardly to do anything about it though, aren’t you?

“I’m sure,” the goblin said more carefully, his eyes returning to the sword as he turned it over in his hands in an effort to make his examination look more thorough. “It is a goblin-made blade – this, is just a cheap replica. It is nothing like the original.”

Bellatrix stopped cutting and turned to face the goblin. Her expression was bored as if Hermione no longer gave her any satisfaction now that she couldn’t make any noise. Like she had finally had her fill. Hermione sucked in a soundless breath, her eyes trailing to the ceiling above her as her body burned and trembled. 

She couldn’t move her limbs. She could hardly feel her left arm – which was surely a bad thing given that the potion was making her feel all of her other limbs quite clearly. Her throat felt like someone had poured acid down it, then made her each sea urchins. She wondered if her voice would ever be the same – assuming she lived much longer. The hot tears that had been cascading down her face continued in a slow, steady stream.

She felt ruined. 

She felt dead.

She may as well have been. In fact, she wished she was. If she was dead, no one would need to save her – no one would spill information. 

Every muscle ached, every bone burned, every nerve blistered in agony, and her mind – although clear from the potion – was broken. Her body was a fractured shell of what it had once been. The lingering tremors that coursed through her made her sick with pain. If she had the strength left, she would have vomited out her organs and curled into a ball and wept like a child. Yet she remained splayed on the floor under the weight of a madwoman, who was now screaming at the goblin and adding cut after cut to his face in relentless rage.

“Draco,” Bellatrix called in a sickly-sweet voice. Her grip on Hermione’s jacket remained tight even though her attention was now turned to the terrified-looking blonde. “Did you recognize the boy?”

“W-What?” Draco asked. His eyes were still fixated on Hermione’s form though he looked miles away.

“The new boy in the dungeon – did you recognize him?”

“I – I–” He hesitated, then slowly shifted his eyes to meet Bellatrix’s gaze. “I didn’t look, Aunt Bella – I only summoned the goblin as you asked.”

“Alright then,” Bellatrix sighed, turning her eyes to Peter. “Wormtail – go fetch the boy and bring him here. Now that the sword is sorted, I want to know if it’s Potter – and grab the redhead too. I’ll get him to talk.”

Bellatrix remained seated atop Hermione’s broken and battered body, appearing perfectly comfortable with her perched position as Hermione kept her eyes trained to Draco’s boots. She ignored the woman’s gaze because she did not want to do anything to antagonize her further – because she couldn’t do this anymore.

She couldn’t handle another round – neither her body nor her mind. As it was, she was straddling the cusp of practical recovery. She had studied the long-term effects of torture after the fake Moody demonstrated the three unforgivables in class. She knew what happened if one endured too much. She knew that some of the damage may be permanent, that she may never be the same again, that her body may never stop twitching, or her mind might be lost. There was nothing she could do about it now, so she tried to bury the anguish that was creeping through her tired mind.

But it was nearly impossible.

She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she wanted to vomit, she wanted to lay alone in a broken pile on the floor. 

She wanted to die.

Merlin let me die. 

A slow hot tear slipped down her cheek as she forced her mind to focus on Harry. He was more important – she didn’t matter. What had happened, what would happen, was what it was, and wallowing over it did her no good. If she was lucky, she would be granted death – but right now, she needed to think. She could not spare herself a second thought. She needed to force her fragile brain to function despite the fact that it was still scorching from torture.

Harry was about to be brought into the room, and if Draco identified him, then all of this was for nothing. Everything she had endured was wasted. Everything would start again, but this time it would be Harry. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes tightly.

Not Harry. Not Harry. Not Harry. Please, you cannot have him.

She felt Bellatrix trail a cold finger down her cheek.

Please no more.

The door to the room burst wide, and her eyes flashed open at the sound to see Harry standing in the open doorway behind Draco. A bolt of purple was erupting from the end of the wand he held tightly in his grip. She felt her heart stutter in her chest as her eyes focused on his face. Then something deep and primal stirred within her. It raged through her body like a hurricane, extinguishing the agony that had been squeezing her to the brink of death. It pushed away the pain. It ejected the exhaustion that riddled every fiber of her being. Her eyes shot wide, and a vicious, monstrous snarl escaped her lips.

Time seemed to slow down before her, a surreal sensation surrounding the room as she watched everything unfold without sparing a moment of thought. Bellatrix, who had only just turned to view the door, froze as her eyes widened in shock. Hermione wrenched her hands from the floor, grabbed both sides of the woman’s head like a watermelon and extended her thumbs. Her left hand missed because her arm didn’t work very well, but she felt her right thumb hit its target. It punctured the soft tissue as she pulled the woman down and rammed her head against her skull. A scream erupted from Bellatrix as the purple shield charm Harry had cast enveloped Hermione’s body. Hermione thrust her hips upwards and tossed the witch to the side with a violent cry of pain.

Harry had rushed forward, disarming a bewildered Draco and catching his wand from the air as if it were a snitch floating lazily before his face. Lucius thudded to the floor like a rock from a silent stunner. Draco backed up in terror with his hands raised open-palmed before him as Greyback was launched against the wall for a second time. The sound was revolting as Harry rolled forward and dodged Scabior’s feeble attempt at a counter before the snatcher fell to the ground with a thud. Goblin in hand, Harry darted across the floor toward her, his eyes fire as they flicked back to catch Bellatrix’s wand. The woman was clutching her face and staggering to her legs.

Hermione hauled herself from the ground with an arduous grunt, stumbling heavily, her legs wide and shaking beneath her like an unstable two-legged tripod as the entire left side of her body sagged. She felt Harry grab her tightly around the middle as he threw a curse at Bellatrix. The witch dodged it, only barely, rising to her feet like the evil demonic creature that she was – blood poured from her left eye socket as her hand tightened around her dagger.

Hermione outstretched her right arm, and the snatcher that had been lingering near Lucius with a raised wand split into three pieces. Narcissa stood stock still to his right; wand held tightly against her side as his blood and organs spilled over her boots. The woman’s gaze was unreadable, but it did not leave Hermione’s face. 

Without pausing and ignoring the agony that shot through her body, Hermione summoned her purse from the floor, abandoning the few objects still scattered across the ground.

“NOW!” Harry yelled, and a loud pop rang out through the room.

Hermione’s hand closed around the material of her purse just as she caught sight of a dark figure entering the room behind Draco’s stunned frame. Whoever it was, they were tall and dressed in all black – but it wasn’t Voldemort. Before her mind could process anything further, she felt a tug behind her naval, and she disappeared with Harry in a second loud pop.

-x-x-

Two Sentence Summary

Harry is brought to the Malfoy Manor dungeon by Narcissa, where he meets up with Luna, Dean, Ollivander, Griphook and punches Ron in the face because Ron reacted during questioning, which led to Hermione being selected for torture first. Hermione is extensively tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, during which: her left arm is carved up, she is stabbed in the shoulder, she endures multiple cruciatus curses and is questioned about the Sword of Gryffindor – which she claims is fake before Harry bursts into the room, and apparates her to safety.

Warnings:

This chapter contains: violence, blood, explicit language, dealing with the aftermath of torture, and many other unpleasant things that may be triggering.

Nothing was written in excess or for shock value, but some may find this chapter difficult and/or upsetting to read. As such, I have placed a two-sentence summary at the bottom of the chapter so that you can skip it if you wish.

******************************************

The world swirled rapidly around her, contorting back from the momentary black and the agonizing pressure of apparition – but something was wrong. They were moving too quickly; the fall was abrupt and uncontrolled. Hermione’s addled brain barely registered the smell of the ocean and the sound of the waves as her eyes winced at the bright light of early afternoon. 

She was falling. The wind was rushing past her face and screeching in her ears until suddenly she collided with the ground, and all the air in her lungs was forced out in a painful grunt. She felt the impact all the way from her head to her toes – her rolled ankle from the walk to the Manor thudded, her broken cheekbone exploded with pain, and her left arm was caught and crushed beneath her body. She gasped for breath only to find that water and sand filled her mouth. Panic flooded her mind.

I’m drowning!

Despite the agonizing pain, she forced herself onto her right elbow and lifted her head from the water, coughing and hacking and drawing in air as sand fell from her lips. Her eyes were wide. They darted around, taking in her surroundings as she felt a fresh wave of cold water wash over her feet up past her hips.

Shell Cottage.

She could make out the small home several hundred feet down the beach. They’d arrived quite a distance away, and they’d landed in the water as opposed to the sand. The potion that Narcissa had given her was still causing her heart to race, her brain to function clearly despite the pain, and her senses to magnify. She had no doubt that it had not only kept her from death in the Manor but that it was the only reason she had been able to stand and attack before Harry somehow apparated her away. Despite being beaten and battered, she’d cleaved that snatcher into pieces with a single raised hand.

Why Narcissa would give her such a thing was a mystery she would need to think on later. She could still picture the woman’s blue wide-eyed stare as Hermione stood on trembling legs before her, and blood flooded over the woman’s pristine shoes. Yet Narcissa had not raised her wand at them. She had stood solid as a rock with her weapon at her side. The whole of it hadn’t made any sense. Surely there were other ways Narcissa could have kept her alive throughout the torture. Surely the woman would have at least raised her wand to defend herself – but she didn’t. 

So Hermione had sparred her and chose to retrieve her purse instead. After all, Harry had spared Lucius and Draco, and that was another something that she would need to figure out.

She groaned and dragged herself forward from the water. The shield spell that Harry had launched at her when he burst through the door had saved her life just now. Yes, the impact had hurt, but nothing else had been broken, and it had prevented her head from exploding like a melon on the ground after falling over three hundred feet from the air. Her mind raced as she crawled herself forward. 

Harry. Where was Harry? How did they get here? How did he apparate? Where was Ron? What had happened? How did he escape? Why had he shouted ‘now’ before they left?

“H – AR – RY!!” She screamed for him, yet barely any sound came from her torn vocal cords. What did leave her lips was ragged and broken, and she knew that no one would hear it against the sound of the water that was washing up onto the shore.

Moving purely on adrenaline with her heart pounding solid as a steam engine in her chest, Hermione relentlessly drove herself forward, clawing at the sand and forcing her legs to move her to her knees. Her left arm hung limp at her side as she placed her weight on her right arm and crawled on her knees. She panted, groaning in pain. Despite the potion coursing through her veins, her entire body rattled like the rickety old wooden roller coaster that her parents had taken her on as a child. She grunted as she stumbled forward into drier sand. She could see figures coming out of the tiny cottage in the distance, but she still could not see Harry – where had he landed?

“H – AR!” This time even less sound came out, and she felt blood trickle down her chin.

FUCK! She cursed inwardly as she looked back to her right. Her voice was gone now, and the more she tried to use it, the worse it would get. 

But she had to find him.

“HERMIONE!!”

Her head flashed to the left in time to see a blur of black racing toward her. She knew it was Harry – she knew it. Even though the shield charm he had cast on her was still in effect and would prevent her from any further physical harm, she wasn’t worried. Strong arms wrapped around her waist and hauled her from her knees off the ground, standing her upright and carrying her away from the water. She’d recognize the feel of him anywhere, his sound, his movements, his smell – she knew him. He was like an extension of her own body. She leaned on him heavily, her legs wobbling beneath her as they moved, her damaged ankle throbbing with each step. Then gratefully, he sat down on the ground and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

“Hermione.” His voice was tight with pain as he held her.

She buried her face into his shoulder as her whole body started to tremble harder. She had thought she might never see him again. She had thought she would die alone on that floor – covered in her own vomit and blood. She thought she might lose him. She thought it had been the end – that he would be brought up next, that he would suffer the same fate, or that Voldemort would return to the Manor and find him. Her fingers curled into his jacket as fresh hot tears poured down her cheeks, and she clung to him. 

He was her lifeline, her only reason for fighting through it.

Never again, never again. I’m never leaving your side again – I can’t do this without you.

She wished she could say the words out loud, that she could whisper in his ear how much she loved him, how much she needed him, but only broken sounds came out. Thinking of him was the only thing that had kept her sane. Knowing that she was protecting him was the only thing that had forced her to endure. And when she couldn’t take it anymore, she had been ready to die for him, ready to submit to the blackness, ready to let it happen – but now that she held him in her arms again, she berated herself for thinking she could ever give up. 

She needed to be here for him. She needed to be with him. She would go through it all again for him, and she would do anything for him. She wished she could tell him how fucking terrified she had been and that she was never going to leave his side again – that she loved him more than anything. But she couldn’t, so she just buried her face in his hair and wept in silence as his voice echoed in her ear.

“Hermione – fucking hell,” his voice rumbled and broke each few words he spoke. “I thought I’d lost you – I thought you might be dead. Fuck I thought I’d lost you – never again – never again. I’m never going to leave your side again. You’re okay – you’re okay, I’ve got you.”

She felt his lips grazing against the skin on her temple before he carefully grabbed her body and pushed her away from him so he could get a better look at her. His eyes were pinched painfully as he cast a diagnostic bubble on her and summoned the purse. She shuddered at the feel of a silent warming spell encasing her like a heavy blanket. She could only imagine what she must look like. Based on his expression, she figured it was less than ideal. 

She kept her right hand gripping the collar of his jacket tightly as he pulled out several potions and ran his hands carefully over her body – inspecting the damage and deciding what to tend to first. From a quick glance at her diagnostic bubble, he brought a blood replenisher to her lips, and she diligently swallowed a quarter of it.

They both knew she wasn’t going to die. The floating orb by her head showed extensive damage to her nerves, organs, and bones – but she would live, despite the fact that her body was aching with steady pain that radiated throughout her yet had no clear epicenter. Instead, every cell in her body was simultaneously groaning in pain. Yet despite this, her body continued to push onwards, her heart continued to pump, and she would live to see tomorrow. 

An excruciating tomorrow. A tomorrow where she may find out that her left arm, which currently hung limply by her side, may never work again. It may become a permanent reminder of the hell that she had been through, of the hell she still felt as it hung dead and useless at her side. She may have ever-lasting nerve damage; she may permanently shake. The thoughts grew sickening, and she forced the feeling in her stomach to ease as she focused her eyes only on his. 

He was the only thing that mattered. She would deal with whatever was left of her body later. So she watched as Harry grabbed a bottle of cleaning potion and dittany from the bag. His movements were robotic and functional, distinctly separate from the anguish that shone in his eyes and the steady mumbling of words that poured from his lips.

“You’re okay – you’re going to be fine; I’ve got you. I’m so sorry, Hermione. So sorry – you’re okay – I promise – never again.”

“Harry Potter.”

The weak voice cut through the air, and Harry froze. He had been carefully cutting away the fabric over her shoulder wound to expose it since it was the worst physical wound she had sustained, and thus he’d rightfully decided to treat it first. But his head turned to the right at the sound, and Hermione’s gaze followed. She recognized that voice. Her body jerked as her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open as her heart ground painfully in her chest.

Dobby was standing just a few feet away, his huge eyes shining as his small hand clutched at the collar of his overlarge shirt – right above the silver hilt of where Bellatrix’s dagger was buried in his chest.

No, Hermione felt what little was left of her heart break. Not Dobby.

Her mind reeled into action, the potion driving it forward with vigour. Her injuries could wait – at this point, they wouldn’t be getting any worse. The damage was done, Bellatrix had seen to that, and most of it was nerve related. The wounds from the dagger had clotted somewhat, possibly as a result of the potion Narcissa had poured down her throat, so she wasn’t bleeding out. Harry’s diagnostic bubble had already confirmed she wasn’t knocking on death’s door. Being in intense pain was not the same thing as dying, and her blood levels were adequate once more after drinking the replenisher.

She was injured, yes, and her physical wounds needed treatment, yes, but she was alive and wouldn’t be keeling over anytime soon. Besides, they had nothing to treat the lingering tremors and pain that radiated through her body from the cruciatus curse anyway – because there wasn’t really anything to treat it. She had looked through countless textbooks, potion journals and literature, and was amazed to find that there wasn’t much that could be done aside from applying a few topical creams to ease the pain (none of which she had right now) or healing specific individual physical injuries that had resulted from the torture. So aside from taking a calming draught or swallowing a fuck ton of dreamless sleep potion and waiting it out, there was nothing she could do at this moment. And that option was off the table until whatever Narcissa gave her wore off. Mixing unknown potions was a juvenile mistake that could kill you faster than you could swallow a bezoar.

So her injuries could wait.

Without stopping to second guess her own analysis, she pushed off from the ground at the same moment Harry did. She knew he would draw the same conclusion. She knew he would trust her to survive. But his arms never left her body. He pulled her from the ground and carried her the ten feet forward across the uneven sand before placing her back on the ground next to him as he kneeled beside Dobby’s fallen form. Her diagnostic bubble trailed diligently along behind them, refusing to be left out. It closed the distance quickly and hovered above her head once more – showing the spike in her heart rate as she got a better look at the elf’s wound.

“Dobby,” Harry said as he grabbed the small elf’s hand gently, his other hand lingering over the knife momentarily as he gave Hermione a questioning look.

He was well studied on human biology and medical care to the point that his skills rivalled Hermione’s – but she knew that he had never researched house-elf biology. She had. It had been part of her S.P.E.W. efforts back at Hogwarts. She shook her head ‘no’ – house-elf magic was different, and pulling out the blade would be a death sentence. She saw him grimace, but he moved his hand away and instead summoned over her purse and the potions from the ground where they had been sitting before as he cast a diagnostic bubble on Dobby.

“Such a beautiful place,” Dobby murmured, his eyes were latched to Harry’s as he spoke. “So beautiful to be with friends.”

Hermione winced as she saw the little glowing bubble appear above the elf. It wasn’t good. The knife had pierced through the bottom half of his heart and a portion of his lung and stomach. The only hope they had of saving him was to pour the dittany over the wound at the exact moment they pulled out the blade – but based on what she could see, it was a lost cause. 

She knew this, and she knew that Harry saw it too.

“Yes, Dobby – it is,” Harry said, his voice was laced with barely controlled emotion as he grabbed a bottle of dittany and uncorked it deftly. “You’ve saved us all Dobby, you were incredible – and now we’re going to save you and get you fixed up, okay? Everything is going to be okay.”

“Dobby is happy to be with his friend, Harry Potter.” Dobby’s words were a faint whisper. His eyes were glazing over as a small smile curled on his lips. In her peripherals, Hermione could see the four figures from the cottage growing closer on their right. They were well within earshot now.

“Dobby – no, don’t die – hang on!” Harry began pouring the dittany.

Hermione groaned loudly in pain as she raised her vibrating right arm toward the knife. She was keenly aware that the deathly sound she made stopped all but one of the approaching figures. Her fingers flinched as they curled around the cold metal surface, and she felt her stomach turn. Touching it made her want to vomit. It made her skin crawl, it made her body ache more, but she bit it down. She saw Harry’s eyes flick to hers, and she nodded at the knife – knowing that her vocal cords would fail her if she tried to explain, but she knew he understood. His hand closed around hers tightly as he poured the dittany, and they both pulled the silver dagger from Dobby’s chest.

A cloud of green billowed around them as the knife was pulled from his small body. Hermione started to shake. Pain rippled down her spine from her crouched position. Her breath was coming in pants. She was asking her body for too much, but she didn’t care as she looked at the elf before her, and she felt the agony on Harry’s face. 

It was too much. 

It was too large, too violent, and too evil for such a small and good creature. She could feel fresh tears pouring down her cheeks as her eyes watched the blipping line in the diagnostic bubble above them slow. Then the line flickered out.

She didn’t stop. 

She refused to stop – so did Harry. His hand moved with hers, and he continued to pour the potion even though they both knew it was over. Finally, the knife came free, and Harry tossed it to the sand at their side. The skin across Dobby’s chest had closed, but he remained motionless. As motionless as the flat line across his diagnostic bubble.

“Dobby?” Harry’s voice was low. His trembling hand had returned to the elf as Hermione’s hands dropped to the sand, and she slumped against him. She could hear the shake of his voice as he placed two gentle fingers at the elf’s neck to manually check for a pulse. “Dobby?”

The little elf remained still on the beach as the sound of waves filled the silence around them. A flock of seagulls cawed as they flew over above, and Hermione’s body curled inwards. The devastating ball in her stomach was like cold ice in her heart, and her whole frame shook. Her own diagnostic bubble began to blip – a small red light warning that her stress levels were dangerously high, and she glared up at it.

He didn’t deserve this.

She felt Harry go still beside her. His silence and lack of outburst was worse than any anguished cry he could have made. She felt her heart breaking as she raised her head and looked toward him. 

He looked blank. 

His hand was clasping the small elf’s as his eyes stared at the blood stain on Dobby’s shirt. His other hand had come to rest tightly on hers. She could see the anger there. She could see the storm within him, and she could feel the tense rigidity in his body as he sat next to her, unmoving.

Gentle footsteps closed the distance toward them from the right, and Hermione’s eyes darted up, widening as they took in Luna’s frail form. Why was Luna here? Had she been at the Manor? Had Harry saved her too? Her mind raced as she stared at the gentle girl. Luna paused in front of them only for a moment before she carefully knelt to the ground. 

The girl looked like hell. A deep bruise covered her cheek, and the typical spark in her eye, while still present, seemed dull and worn like her hair. Hermione felt her face crumple into a pained expression as the girl gave her a small smile. She felt no fear or suspicion like she had when Ron showed up unexpectantly – perhaps it was just Luna’s nature. The girl was so gentle, so obviously kind and caring, and Harry’s calm acknowledgment of her presence with a quick sweep of his eyes and gentle squeeze on Hermione’s wrist made her racing heart calm.

“We should close his eyes,” Luna said softly, raising her boney hand forward to gently slide the elf’s eyelids shut. Hermione felt Harry’s hand twitch against hers. “There, now he could be sleeping.”

“Thank you, Luna,” Harry said. He sounded pained, yet he gave Luna a small grimace of gratitude. 

It was clear that Harry trusted her, and Hermione did too. It was such an instinctual emotion toward the girl. Hermione nodded once to Luna in thanks but groaned loudly in pain as a fresh round of tremors shot down her spine, and she curled forward. Harry’s eyes flicked up to her bubble anxiously and then to her shaking form. His hand dropped Dobby’s and circled around her.

“Harry,” Luna said softly, her eyes knowingly watching their interaction and then glancing back down to the elf. “Go care for Hermione – I can stay with him.”

“Thank you.” Harry nodded at her and stood, pulling Hermione up with him and holding her firmly to his chest. “I want to bury him – properly, without magic.”

“I think I saw a shovel in by the side garden.” Luna nodded in understanding. She stood slowly from the ground. “I will go get the shovel and remove the blood from his shirt. There are some flowers in the windowsill garden box – I don’t think Fleur will mind if we pick some – when you’re ready, we can dig the hole, okay?”

Harry nodded once more as he hoisted Hermione firmly to his side and then began all but carrying her away from the cottage to a large rock.

“Luna!” He called over his shoulder as he sat Hermione down and leaned her against the rough surface. The blonde girl stopped and turned back around. “See if Fleur has any honey and ginger.”

Hermione leaned against the hard surface of the rock with a silent sigh, her trembling legs extending before her as Harry knelt to the ground at her side. She could see Luna nod quickly in response to Harry’s request and make her way back to the cottage toward the three tall figures that stood nervously awaiting her. A small figure was slowly wandering toward the cottage on its own. It wasn’t until that moment that Hermione realized who everyone was – up until now, she hadn’t cared who was standing fearfully away from them, obviously unsure of what to do. Now, she realized it was Dean, Fleur, and Ron – and the retreating figure was the goblin.

Fleur was standing nearest to them. She looked positively desperate with her hand clutched at the front of her pale blue dress. She was clearly urgent to help but had no idea what to do. Her mouth was open as her eyes flicked between Luna, the motionless elf, and Hermione’s battered form. 

Dean looked just as terrible as Luna. He was skinny, too skinny, dirty, worn – nothing like the strapping young man he used to be. His expression looked pained and wary, and he was holding Ron tightly by the shoulder. Which Hermione thought was odd, and she noted that his expression was fixated on Ron as if he was watching him carefully.

Ron, the redheaded idiot, was staring at her fixatedly. Not at her face, but at her body. His face was bruised, and his expression was unreadable. It seemed to change every second, fluctuating between rage, nausea, fear, disgust, hurt, shame, and something else – she couldn’t keep up with it, and it just made her heart race quicker with anger. 

She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want to look at him – she never wanted to see his face again. In fact, she wanted to get up and go destroy it with her dirty and bloodied fingers. She wanted to claw the skin off of him and make him feel some tiny piece of the pain he had condemned her to when he opened his stupid fucking mouth. She clenched her jaw in pain, but she refused to look away. She wouldn’t be weak – she wouldn’t grant him the mercy of hiding her agony. She wanted him to see it. She wanted him to know that it was his fault. She was broken because of him, because he couldn’t listen, because he couldn’t fucking think. Because she hadn’t done what she knew she should have done and she had mistakenly left brought him along.

Their eyes met.

I should have fucking hexed you. I should have obliviated you – I should have killed you! She seethed inwardly as her nails bit into the palm of her hand, and her first curled tightly despite the pain. We were almost caught because of YOU! YOU ALMOST RUINED EVERYTHING!

She narrowed her eyes at him, burning hatred that had been forgotten through rounds of agonizing torture reignited in her chest, and she glared at him like death. She held her chin high as her jaw clenched tighter. She heard Harry rapidly setting up the tent beside them, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she stared daggers at him as she watched him visibly flinch; his eyes widened in fear at the expression on her face. She didn’t relent until he finally looked away and focused his gaze on the ground before him. 

Luna had stopped to talk to Fleur and Dean, then they all turned back to the cottage, Luna and Fleur running while Dean all but pushed Ron along before him with a tight and unrelenting grip. Hermione finally allowed her eyes to slide away from them and back to Harry, who was at her side once more.

“I’m going to heal your ankle and your broken cheekbone first – then we’ll go inside, okay?”

Hermione nodded and flinched as she felt her ankle twinge with pain. It must have been broken, not just sprained. Her cheek was worse, healing it felt like having it broken all over again, and she bit her lip so hard it bled. Then Harry helped her into the tent, and she laid across the cot that Harry had created from the small couch.

“Here, drink this – it’s dittany, so it’s going to taste like shit, but it should give you back your voice. Though, it’s still going to hurt to talk,” Harry said as his eyes danced across her dedicated diagnostic bubble, which had followed them inside and now floated happily by her head. “I’ll have Luna or Fleur make you some hot tea when they get here – it will help with the lingering pain.”

Hermione nodded and drank the dittany. Her entire body seized. She shot up from the bed like a bullet – it was worse than Polyjuice potion. It was worse than the pain that already riddled her body. She almost gagged and spat it out, but Harry quickly clamped his hand over her mouth and urged her to swallow. She shook her head, and tears pooled in her eyes. It burned worse than she could have imagined, but she forced it down when he brought his lips to her temple and begged her to do it.

“Fuuu – ucckkk!!!” Her voice broke as it came back to life, and she coughed violently against his damp jacket. Green smoke surged from her mouth like a dragon. “Fucking hell – fuck it burns, Harry – it burns!”

The words sobbed from her mouth as she clung to his chest, and he kissed across her forehead, holding her trembling form.

“I know – I know – I’m so sorry, Hermione. I’m so sorry; it’s over now, though. The rest is nothing compared to this.” He was lying, and she knew it, but she nodded into his chest anyway.

Gently he laid her back down on the cot and then proceeded to heal her injuries. 

The process was slow and agonizing. A part of her wished that he had delayed giving her the dittany to swallow because now he could hear her pained cries. 

The shoulder was the worst. The wound was deep, angry, and agitated from dark magic. It has sliced through her tendons and muscles, severing them completely, which was why she couldn’t move the entire limb. Harry worked carefully, his hands steady as he picked out the fabric from the cut before he cleaned it and dowsed it in dittany. He held her to the cot as she rocked and writhed in pain beneath his hold. Each mark from the knife turned into a sharp, dark, angry red line. They weren’t mangled like the werewolf wounds had been because each cut had been clean – but they were permanent and always would be.

Harry did his best to distract her from the pain by telling her what had happened. As hot tears poured from her eyes and she clutched his sleeve desperately, she learned that Narcissa had brought him and Ron to the Malfoy Manor dungeon, which was just below the drawing-room. There, Harry had come to find four other prisoners: Mr. Ollivander, a goblin named Griphook, Luna, and Dean. The room was warded to prevent any magic, which oddly was something that Narcissa had told him, so Harry was unable to escape.

At one point, Draco had shown up to collect the goblin for questioning. Hermione remembered him being sent down there by Bellatrix, and Harry said that when Draco came to the gate, Ron had screamed at him to let them out. Harry had lost his temper and decked him in the face again, knocking him out cold. He then told Dean to keep the boy away from him before he killed him – which explained the watchful eye and firm hold that Dean had on Ron outside only a moment ago, and it explained the bruises on Ron’s face. Apparently, Harry’s outburst had terrified Draco. The boy had refused to look at him or come anywhere near the gate – he instead summoned Griphook through the bars magically, an ability which Harry suspected was only possible because he was a Malfoy.

Dobby had appeared moments later, claiming he had been sent by a man named Aberforth to help. Harry had recognized the name from Rita’s book. It was Dumbledore’s brother, but how Aberforth had known to send him was a mystery that they would now never be able to solve. Harry had planned to ask Dobby for more information when they got to safety – but now that was impossible. 

Harry had asked Dobby to apparate the others to Shell Cottage first and promise to return. The elf had disapparated with the group just seconds before Wormtail came down the stairs to get Harry for questioning. To which Harry gladly complied, going through the gate uncaring that Wormtail held him at wand point. Harry waited for the moment when the eerie tingle of the Malfoy wards finished washing over his skin, and then he wordless lopped off the man’s head and took his wand.

The rest had been rather straightforward, Harry said. He cast a shield charm on himself as Dobby reappeared, and they both charged up the stairs to rescue her. Dobby waited in the hallway, then apparated into the room to grab Harry and bring them all to Shell Cottage once he gave the signal. 

Disarming the room had been relatively easy since no one was expecting him. Fenrir’s wand had been holstered, and the Malfoys didn’t even counterattack. He’d had the advantage, and he had his shield. The second he burst through the doors, he sent the shield toward Hermione, using the moment of shocked inaction to wordlessly summoned a spare pair of his glasses from the purse. But when Bellatrix threw the knife, it must have gotten caught in the apparition – and Dobby, being the dedicated and loyal elf that he was, had still managed to complete the apparition and bring them to safety.

As Harry spoke, she noticed that his voice tensed when he got to the wounds on her left arm. She didn’t look down at it, she would see it later, and instead, she chose to close her eyes and focused on his voice. The tremble of his hands against her skin and his barely contained anger was enough to tell her that it was bad. Really bad. He had just finished checking the healing of the skin when Fleur cautiously entered the tent, and Hermione’s eyes flew back open.

“I ‘ave ze ‘oney and ginger ‘Arry,” Fleur said softly. 

She looked sick to her stomach, and Hermione realized that without their normal wards around the tent, her screams had no doubt carried over to the cottage. It was clear that Fleur was also extremely nervous of them.

“Thanks,” he said without looking up from his work on Hermione’s arm. “Can you make some hot tea with it – her throat is in pretty rough shape.”

To Fleur’s credit, she did not stare like a gaping fish at Hermione’s body, and she didn’t shy away from it like a coward either. Regardless of her very apparent unease, she held herself poised and rigid, her eyes firm despite the small shake of her hands as she nodded and quickly moved to the kitchen to get a mug. Hermione could hear her clattering around as Harry exhaled deeply then turned to look at her.

“All done,” he said, bringing his left hand up to push a few strands of hair away from her face as his eyes searched hers.

As much as Hermione knew she would appreciate the tea that Fleur was making, she really wished that they were alone. It always felt like their conversations were clipped and shortened in the presence of others.

“How bad is it,” she asked, and she winced at the sound. She sounded like she’d been smoking four packs a day for thirty years.

“It all healed,” Harry said quietly as he watched Fleur from the corner of his eye. She had finished with the tea and was nervously bringing it over.

“’ Ere you are, ‘Ermione,” she said with a small smile. Hermione could see her eyes quickly scan over her body and diagnostic bubble as she handed the mug to Harry and maintained a decent distance from them. “Is zere anything else?”

“Thank you,” Hermione said roughly as Harry accepted the mug for her.

“No, thank you – tell Luna I’ll be there shortly,” Harry said with a nod of his head to the tent door in Luna’s general direction.

“Okay.” Fleur nodded, turning the leave. Then she paused, and Hermione could see the hesitation in her form before the beautiful witch turned back to face her and Hermione was surprised to see tears in the woman’s eyes. “’ Ermione – you are ze bravest witch I know – if zere is anything else I can ever do, just say ze word.”

Then she turned quickly on her heel and left the tent without another word. Hermione watched the flap move for a moment before she groaned and pushed herself up into a sitting position with Harry’s help so she could sip the tea he held out to her. It was delicious, warm, sweet, tangy – it felt like cool water on a burn, calming her sore throat. Her eyes flicked down to her left arm. It was turned over so that her forearm was facing downward. She tried to roll it over but found that she couldn’t. Either the dittany may not have properly repaired the tendons because of the dark magic, or her body just needed more time to heal and reconnect the nerves. She would know as the days went by whether or not the damage was permanent. 

Her eyes flicked back to Harry’s, and she sighed.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” she said slowly.

She was starting to feel exhaustion set in across her body. The potion that had been keeping her heart hammering firmly in her chest had worn off halfway through her healing and now her pulse, while still steady, thrummed much more slowly in her chest. Her body felt like lead, and everything hurt. She suspected that it would for a long while, and she desperately wanted to rest, but she needed to know what was on her arm. She’d delayed it long enough. Whatever had happened to her was going to be there for the rest of her life, and she needed to know so she could try to deal with it.

“Harry, what did she carve into my arm?”

Harry looked at her for a long minute before slowly setting down her tea and carefully grabbing her left forearm. She was relieved to find that she could, at the very least, feel his contact against her skin now, and that meant that recovery was still on the table. She eyed it in anxious anticipation as Harry turned it over, and then she felt her heart stutter.

MUDBLOOD.

It was carved into her forearm from elbow to wrist in clean, thin, red lines, perfectly legible against her skin. She heard herself inhale sharply, and she felt Harry’s grip tighten. Then she felt her throat close up and her chest tighten.

-x-x-

Harry sighed. 

He felt like he was a hundred years old. His body ached, his stomach was empty, and he needed to eat – though he doubted he would have the stomach for it right now. He had watched Hermione’s face turn even whiter than it already was as her expression went blank at the sight of the word engraved on her arm. But she didn’t react. She had just stared at it blankly. 

It hurt him.

It physically hurt him to see her disconnect. Just like it had hurt him to watch her scream in pain under his hands as he healed her – just like it had hurt him the first time, long ago in the tall grass by the ocean. Somehow though, this time, it felt worse. After everything, all the training, all the preparation – he still had not been able to protect her. She had still been injured, again, and it was his fault.

He knew Ron was a risk. 

He should have just obliviated everything from his moronic little mind. Hell, he should have just killed him. Dealing with the fallout from the Weasleys would have been better than dealing with the injuries that Hermione had sustained.

And it wasn’t just the physical ones he was worried about. It was the unseen mental trauma that scared him. Yes, her body was exhausted, her nerves were damaged, and her left arm still hung limply – but physically, she was fine. The left arm was the only extensive physical wound she had received. The rest of the damage was cellular or nerve-related. She would be fine. Given some sleep, some food, and some time she would be able to walk around again and become as strong if not even stronger than before. Even if her body always had a small tremble or even if her left arm never fully healed, she would be physically fine.

Mentally though, he wasn’t sure. 

The cruciatus drove people insane. He’d seen what it had done to Neville’s parents, and Hermione had been tortured extensively. So far, she appeared okay. She’d told him that Narcissa gave her something that was like an adrenaline rush and a kick to the heart. It had cleared her head through the torture and kept her sane. Right now, she appeared to be completely capable of rational thought, her memory seemed intact, and she seemed like herself – mostly. Except that he knew she was closing in on herself and pushing the trauma down deep within. Her non-reaction to her dead arm was proof of that. 

After starring at it blankly for several long moments, she had emotionlessly stated that she wanted to come help bury Dobby.

He knew that she needed to deal with what had happened, but he also knew that she also needed to do it in her own time. He couldn’t force her to think about it or acknowledge it. He could only love her and be there to pick up the pieces when and if she ever broke. He’d hold her in the night when she woke up screaming, and eventually, when she was ready, he would talk about it with her. For now, though, he had agreed to let her help provided that she sat while he dug the hole and left her diagnostic charm active so he could monitor it. 

So it lingered above her like a permanent fixture – displaying her vitals for everyone to see, though he doubted anyone but them, and Fleur could read it. He bundled her in a warm thick sweater since her jacket was hacked to pieces, and he dried the rest of their clothes magically before heading back out.

They both still looked like shit and were covered in blood, but at least they were warm. They needed a shower, desperately, then food, then rest – but first, he needed to bury his friend.

That was the only thing keeping the torment of emotion inside him from exploding outwards. He knew he was a ticking time bomb. He wanted to stay calm for Hermione, and he wanted to do Dobby justice. Those were his top priorities, but once he buried the elf he needed to deal with his third concern. 

Ron. 

He didn’t trust that the redhead wouldn’t try to apparate away in shame, and it needed to be addressed immediately. The only thing stopping him from doing anything about the boy right now was that he knew Dean was keeping an eye on him, and he knew that Ron was clearly in shock.

Though, if Harry was being honest, he did not want to deal with Ron right now – he didn’t want to deal with him at all. He was exhausted and spent. He was angry and devastated. He wanted nothing more than to bury his friend and mourn the loss as he held Hermione to his chest in the safety of their tent.

Angry as he was, he wanted to be alone and shut out the world. He knew if he dealt with Ron now, it would be rageful, swift, and it would be an execution. He wondered if he would regret it later. He wasn’t sure. He sort of doubted it – but even still, somehow, the thought of making that decision right now didn’t sit well with him. He already reeked of death, it was tangled in his hair, and it hung off his clothes. He’d already slaughtered almost half a dozen people today, he was tired, and he didn’t want to add another number to his death count. 

He just wanted a second to breathe and to be with Hermione.

He stepped through the tent entrance with her plastered firmly to his side. He spotted Luna on the small grassy hill to the left where she had moved Dobby to – clearly, this was the gravesite she had selected. He could make out Ron sitting on a rock closer to the cottage with his head held in his hands. Dean was still gripping his shoulder, but now Bill stood nearby whispering quickly with Fleur. Seeing the younger redhead made his blood boil, so he ignored them all and turned away, walking Hermione toward Luna.

The blonde had gathered a shovel and flowers as she promised. She had even weaved together a little crown that she’d placed on Dobby’s head. As they grew closer, Harry saw that she had vanished the blood from the elf’s shirt and sewn the rip shut – by hand.

His heart ached in his chest as he set Hermione down gently on the sand and then turned to pick up the shovel. Luna was so understanding that sometimes it hurt. 

The late afternoon sun beat down on his neck as he struck the shovel into the dirt, and with each hit, he released a small amount of his anger and tossed the soil to the side. He dug in silence, Luna kneeling next to Hermione quietly as her body continued to tremble. It took half an hour for him to dig the hole, place Dobby’s body, and shovel the dirt back on top. Luna, bless her kind and beautiful soul, had gathered a large flat rock to use as a tombstone, and Harry engraved it before setting it in the ground.

Here lies Dobby, a Free Elf.

Harry felt a hand on his sleeve as he stood staring blankly at the grave, and he turned to see Hermione. She had pushed herself from the ground on her own accord and was now leaning on him for balance, but amazingly, she was standing on her own.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” Hermione whispered. Her voice had improved a fraction, but it still sounded painful and riddled with exhaustion. 

She needed to sleep.

He wound his arms around her and held her tightly to his side, resting his chin on the top of her head. “So am I.”

He wanted to cry. 

He wanted her to cry. 

He wanted her to let out the emotion that he knew she was bottling up. He wanted them to be alone. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to deal with any of this. Not now. Not when the person he cared most about in the world was broken in his arms.

He silently thanked Luna for being the only one there with them. He suspected that she had told the others to stay back, and it meant more to him than he could ever say. He would need to tell her someday, though he also suspected that she already knew how he felt.

“Should I say something?” Luna asked gently as she came to stand beside Hermione. “I would like to – I would like to thank him. Thank you, Dobby for rescuing me from that dungeon – it was unfair that you died – you were a brave elf who deserved so much more. Thank you, I hope that you can now truly be free.”

The words hung heavy in the air around them. There was nothing else to add. Harry wasn’t sure how long they stood there for, but eventually, he saw Bill approaching from the cottage as the others made their way inside, and he tensed. 

He didn’t know Bill very well, but he seemed to remember that the eldest Weasley was far more reasonable than some of the others, more like Arthur. Harry hoped he was because he was about to test the theory. A thought had been lingering in his head from the moment he started to heal Hermione, one that would spare him and Hermione some time. He nodded to Luna, who had quietly said goodbye and placed a gentle hand on Hermione’s shoulder before leaving. She strolled past Bill with a polite greeting and continued on to the cottage.

“Harry, Hermione – are – are you two okay?” Bill stopped several feet away, giving them a wide berth as he looked cautiously between the two of them. They must look more foreboding and wrecked than Harry realized because even Bill seemed nervous to be around them. “Dean said that you rescued them from Malfoy Manor.”

“Yes,” Harry said as he eyed the Weasley carefully. “We were brought there for questioning – but we’re alright.”

“Okay,” Bill hesitated, his eyes continued to flick over them uneasily before he spoke much more softly, though he made no motion to move any closer. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived to help, and I’m sorry about your friend – I was at work and couldn’t leave without it being suspicious. Fleur let me know the second you got here, though. She’s tended to Griphook and Mr. Ollivander – she said that you’ve taken care of yourselves but – do you need anything? You two are welcome to stay in the cottage. It’s small, but we have enough room for everyone.”

“Thank you, Bill – the offer is appreciated, but we’ll stay in the tent,” Harry said. There was no way they would be able to sleep or feel safe in a house full of people – and there was no way he was going anywhere near Ron right now.

“Maybe some more tea,” Hermione croaked up beside him, and he saw Bill’s face soften.

“We can make it ourselves if we could just borrow some more ginger and honey,” Harry offered to Bill.

“Of course – I’ll bring some out.”

Harry hesitated. Bill’s statement about him staying at work to avoid suspicion made him hopeful that his next words wouldn’t be met with anger or distrust. So far, Bill seemed very much like Arthur – not just in his logical approach but in his mannerisms too. Either way, it was worth a shot since Harry didn’t feel like stunning anyone right now or getting into a second fight – though he would if he needed to. He was just hopeful Bill might be able to grant him one small reprieve.

“Bill,” Harry said slowly, gauging the man’s response as he continued. “Do you control the wards here? Can you control who enters and who leaves?”

“Yes,” Bill replied as his brow furrowed in confusion. “When Fleur and I moved in here, the access rights became mine, and I’ve set them up based on what we decided with the Order. Why?”

“I need to ask you a favour – and I need you to trust me,” Harry said as he fixed Bill with a firm look, then spoke his next words slowly. “I’m going to ask this of you because I’m confident that the alternative would be – less than desirable for you and your family – and I need your help until I can come up with an alternative that’s a bit less… permanent.”

“Okay,” Bill said slowly, his eyes narrowing and his shoulders tensing.

“I need you to ward Ron in.”

“In?”

“Yes, in – he cannot apparate or leave the premise,” Harry said. “Not by foot or any other way. Can you do that?”

Bill looked at him for a long moment, and Harry felt his own shoulders tense with anticipation. Bill wasn’t an idiot. He had surely worked out what the less than desirable alternative was – or he at least was thinking about it. He didn’t know what Bill thought of him or if he would agree.

“I can do that,” Bill said finally, and Harry watched in surprise as he slowly pulled his wand from his sleeve and uttered several quick incantations that Harry didn’t recognize. The cautious use of his wand led Harry to believe that Bill had most definitely flagged him as a potential danger. that, or he thought they were shell-shocked from what happened to them. Either way, the wizard was careful to return his wand to his pocket with very clear and deliberate motions. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why I just confined my brother to a 500-meter radius of the cottage, are you?”

“Not today. Hermione needs rest,” Harry said, then he hesitated, eyeing Bill. Perhaps the man was as trustworthy as Arthur. “We can talk tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Hermione murmured, looking up at Bill with a relief that was palpable. 

The tall man nodded to her, still visibly confused but clearly aware that whatever this was – it was important.

Harry hesitated once more. “Bill, do you have any plans of Gringotts?”

Bill’s eyes narrowed again, and they shifted back to Harry, then flicked between them. Calculating. He seemed to debate pushing for more information but thought better of it. Each time his eyes fell on Hermione, his gaze would soften, and finally, he let out a long heavy sigh.

“Yes,” he said heavily. “I do.”

“Bring those too – tomorrow is Saturday, right? Come to the tent at noon, and we can talk then.”

“Alright.” Bill’s voice was tight, but he nodded as Harry started to turn away.

After three steps with Hermione, Harry stopped and turned back to Bill. The man was watching them curiously, and Harry caught his eye. A small part of him, the old part of Harry, hated himself for what he was about to say – Bill did not deserve his anger, rage, or mistrust and contempt. He didn’t know the man. The man had given him no reason to be suspicious, but a much larger part of Harry did not care. There were much larger things at stake than Bill’s feelings or his own.

“Bill, I need to know that I can trust you,” Harry said slowly, letting the words hang heavy in the air between them before he continued. He didn’t miss the shift in Bill’s demeanour as the seriousness of Harry’s voice hit him hard. He had already seemed unsure of them throughout the exchange, but now it was showing on his face. “This isn’t personal. It’s necessary, and it’s for the safety and future of everyone here. If you let Ron out, we will lose this war – all of us. So I think it goes without saying – that if it happens – it will be the last thing you ever do.”

Bill stared at him unblinkingly for a long moment as the ocean waves rang out between them. The threat weighed heavy in the air as the sun started to set over the water and the red glow began casting shadows across the low surrounding hills.

“My dad said to trust you,” Bill said slowly, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. “A few weeks ago, he told me – that if I ever ran into you, I was to do anything that you needed. That I was to help without question.”

Bill paused, and his eyes trailed over Harry’s face, his long tangled hair, down his dirty, violent frame, and back up to his vibrant green eyes.

“I trust my father, Harry,” he said quietly. His eyes almost looked sad for a moment as he shook his head. “He told me that you’d changed. He didn’t say how – but I don’t think I understood what he meant until now.”

Bill swallowed and took a deep breath.

“I swear to you, on my life – on Fleur’s life – Ronald Weasley will not leave this cottage until you deem it so. You have my word – so please, don’t use the alternative.”

-x-x-

Two sentence Summary

Hermione lands in the water and crawls to shore, where Harry finds her and tends to her injuries only to find that her left arm is unresponsive. Together with Luna, they bury Dobby on the beach, and Harry asks Bill to help them by warding Ron in at Shell Cottage. 

After the conversation with Bill, Harry had carried Hermione to the tent. He warded it with their typical alarms before he brought her inside, and then they both immediately went to shower. 

The process had been difficult as he had to hold her up for part of it – her legs were finally giving out beneath her, and she wasn’t able to stand straight anymore. He’d also had to help her wash her hair since she could not use her left arm. That was a task and a half, but they got it done. She had insisted on taking the shower despite her exhaustion, and Harry couldn’t blame her. She wanted to wash off what had happened, and cleaning spells just didn’t cut it – she needed it. 

So, he would gladly do whatever she needed.

Then, once they were dry and re-dressed, he’d forced them both to eat the food that Fleur had left outside their tent. He’d made Hermione a second cup of tea before he finally carried her to bed and made her tip back a vile and a half of dreamless sleeping draught. She had rejected the notion at first; she’d never liked the idea of using sleeping aids as they could lead to bad habits, and they left you vulnerable and open to attack. But logic got the better of her. The better the rest she got, the quicker she would heal and the faster she could get back to normal. So, begrudgingly, she’d tipped back the potion and curled into Harry’s arms, trusting him to keep her safe throughout the night while she was all but unconscious.

That night was the first time in months that she slept like a rock. Harry couldn’t recall her moving an inch or making a peep throughout the whole night, and she hadn’t woken up until 10 am the next morning despite the fact that she passed out at 7 pm the day before.

After fifteen hours of deep uninterrupted sleep, the improvement in her heath was shocking. 

She was still exhausted and sore. She said that her muscles felt pulled and strained, and she was tired beyond belief, but the colour had returned to her face, and she was able to pull herself up from bed and move around on her own without trouble. While her physical injuries from the blade had been excruciatingly painful to receive, aside from the shoulder wound, none of them were deep – so the muscle damage was actually quite minimal. The lingering pain she felt was from the cruciatus curse, and it would heal over time as the inflammation in her nerves and organs went down and her body healed on its own. It wasn’t something that dittany could repair. What she really needed now was time, good food, and more rest.

Her body still continuously quivered with tremors, but when she’d sat at the table for breakfast, she’d discovered that she was now able to move the fingers of her left hand – barely. She had smiled at Harry brightly in excitement and then burst into uncontrollable tears. 

He’d scrambled out of his seat to reach her so quickly, the chair fell over, and he knocked the tea mugs off the table with a crash as he jumped over the surface to gather her in his arms. He’d held her to his chest while she cried and wretched up her breakfast on the floor. He’d stroked her hair and kissed her temple as she wept for her dead arm and told him that she had wanted to die at the Manor – that at one point, she thought she had died, and she’d been devastated when she realized that she was still alive. She’d sobbed and told him that she was ‘sorry’ – that she would never leave him, that she hadn’t meant it, that she loved him and would stay with him through everything.

His heart had burned in his chest, and he’d tasted bile at the back of his throat when he’d realized what she was truly agonizing over. She felt guilty. 

She felt guilty that she’d had a moment of weakness and had wished for death instead of pushing through it for him. 

It broke his heart and made him feel sick that she would so readily accept her fate for him and then blame herself for not being strong enough. He’d felt his eyes prickle with hot tears. He’d held her tighter than ever before, whispering in her ear that she’d done nothing wrong. He told her that she’d been so brave, that he loved her more than anything, that none of this was her fault, and that she was going to be okay. They were okay. She shouldn’t feel guilty. He would never leave her again, and he was always going to be there for her. 

They’d sat there for an hour until she finally calmed down and then went to go shower. Harry cleaned up the mess while she was gone and made a second round of breakfast. He even repaired her favourite mug and made her another cup of tea using the kettle they’d borrowed from Fleur. This time, she’d been able to eat and keep it down, and Harry had felt some of the heaviness in his chest ease away.

He knew that she still had to deal with everything in her own time, that what happened wouldn’t just disappear overnight or after a single breakdown – but her outburst had been the first recognition she’d made to acknowledge what happened, and it was progress. He could see the lines of tension in her face ease as she ate the second round of eggs and drank her fresh tea. He’d felt his own heart heal as a strange feeling of calm filled the tent between them.

They finished eating just before Bill arrived with a collection of papers under his arms, and then they spent the afternoon reviewing through the data with him. He’d eyed them cautiously and answered their initial questions. He even accepted a coffee from Harry. They hadn’t revealed why Harry had requested the plans, and Bill, to his credit, hadn’t pushed for anything. It was clear that he was struggling to keep his own questions at bay. His tense jaw and shoulders were evidence of that fact, but he had seemed pleased when Harry asked him to return the next day at the same time to discuss things further.

Perhaps Bill was hoping that they would let him in with time or that they would at least trust him with some knowledge of their plans.

He was a patient man, a calm man. He was very much like a younger version of Arthur, and thus both Harry and Hermione had felt comfortable having him in the tent for the afternoon. They’d only unintentionally flinched at his movements twice, and Bill, the ever-keen observer, had noticed immediately and changed the way he moved to address it. He did his best to keep his hands in sight and flat on the table and avoided dropping any books onto the stack on the floor. He’d also placed his wand in the middle of the table upon arriving, then left it there throughout the meeting as if he hoped to show them he was no threat.

After Bill left, Harry and Hermione had taken stock of the wands that Harry had managed to collect from the Manor during their exit fight. They had Wormtail’s, Draco’s, and Bellatrix’s. They had both agreed to store Bellatrix’s wand in Hermione’s black box next to the werewolf bands and the cursed dagger that Harry had collected after Hermione had fallen asleep the night before. They’d decided that using Draco’s and Wormtail’s would be safest, but they planned to have Mr. Ollivander inspect the wands once the old man woke up just to be sure. 

Apparently, the apparition had been hard on him, and he had blacked out unconscious on the beach because he was so weak. Bill said that he still had not woken up, but his vitals were ‘okay’. They also agreed that at some point, they would need to speak with the goblin about the bank, but not yet. They wanted to formalize a plan first, and Hermione didn’t want to see anyone else just yet – which suited Harry just fine. So, they stayed in the tent the remainder of the evening, Hermione curling in Harry’s arms quietly as both of them read.

They repeated the process the following day, and after a second night of sleeping for fifteen hours like a rock, Hermione was able to raise her left arm four inches from her side – but the tremors continued. She’d grimaced at them any time they inhibited her actions, but she bore through it relentlessly, refusing to allow Harry to pour her tea and groaning outwardly through gritted teeth as she fought to keep her hand steady while taking notes. Bill had watched her tenacious behaviour during their meeting with a quiet astonished look of awe for several minutes. Then he’d offered to contact Arthur about the tremors as it was possible that Shacklebolt might know something that would help. Given his experience as an Auror, Shacklebolt was well versed with dark magic and the lingering effects of the cruciatus.

Hermione had agreed to let Bill contact his dad, then waited until the eldest Weasley had left the tent to pen a note to Arthur herself with her shaky hand. She and Harry had debated informing Arthur and asking for his assistance the evening before, but had decided to wait another day or two to see how her injuries progressed. Since there was no major improvement it made sense to reach out for help. Especially since they both knew that Arthur was bound to pop by the cottage on Order-related business at some point, so there was no way that he wouldn’t find out about them being there or what had happened given enough time.

But Hermione had wanted to tell Arthur herself. She wanted to be the one to inform him on her terms, which Harry fully supported. So, despite her penmanship looking like that of a child’s, she determinedly wrote him her letter.

And the response had been almost immediate:

Hermione,

I’ve already contacted Shacklebolt regarding the lingering effects of the cruciatus, and I believe there is a good chance that we can help you. The second he gets back to me, I will inform you immediately. Until then – rest, eat, and calming draught should help minimize the side effects.

I think it goes without saying that I am beyond devastated to hear that you have had to endure such an abominable act. There are no words to express my sorrow over the agony you must be in, or how sorry I am and how deeply I wish there was a way to reverse what happened. In my heart, I know how strong you are, and I know that you would not want me fawning all over you. Or showering you with sympathy, so despite my natural instinct to do just that, I will force myself to trust in your strength. You will be okay.

I know you will.

With that said, you know that I respect your and Harry’s secrecy – but I must ask – do you need anything? Can I send anything to you? Do you require more potions or potions ingredients? Do you need any medical supplies? Is there anything that I can do, anything at all?

Fleur contacted me yesterday, letting me know that some prisoners from Malfoy Manor had arrived and that everyone was safe and accounted for, but she did not list the names as we can never be too careful with our communications. And most of our messages are sent in code which makes using unique names all the more difficult (I would like to thank you for that brilliant idea, it is courtesy of you that we now use book ciphers).

I never imagined that you and Harry might be in the group that arrived. I was planning to come by this week to Shell Cottage to check in. I dare say I would have been surprised to see you both there. I am still planning to come by, and if it is alright with you, I would love to see you both. Perhaps, if you are comfortable with it and feeling up to it, we could use this as an opportunity to discuss the plan of attack we have for the werewolf den, as I would like to pick your brain on the banding magic as part of our final preparations.

That said – your health and wellbeing are paramount, so please let me know what you think is best. I cannot stress this enough, Hermione; I am here for you and Harry with whatever you need. If you need help with your recovery, your mission, or you simply just need to talk to someone – or anything else, please let me know.

As always, I will not let Bill know that we have already spoken and I will act surprised when he contacts me.

Sending you my love,

Arthur

The response had left Hermione in silent tears, and her hand had begun to shake too violently to respond. After three failed attempts, she’d finally relented and given the pen to Harry, who thanked Arthur on her behalf below her scribbled mess. They’d agreed to coordinate a meeting to discuss the werewolf den, and then they’d both ate a quiet dinner.

Somehow over those first few days, they’d managed to avoid seeing anyone but Bill or Luna. Luna came by Sunday night after dinner with cookies and had had tea with them. Fleur seemed determined to fatten the girl back up and was constantly baking in the cottage – they’d noticed the smell of the goodies wafting down to the tent when the wind was just right. 

Dean, or someone, was keeping Ron away from them, and for that, Harry was grateful. His anger toward the redhead had not ceased. It still burned like a raging inferno, but not seeing Ron’s face at least kept his rage at bay and gave Hermione time to heal in peace. Though Harry suspected it was only a matter of time until they came head to head once more. He just hoped that perhaps this time Ron would be able to act like an adult and not provoke his own demise.

As it turned out, Bill was off from work the following week, and he had agreed to spend his time helping them with their continued investigation into Gringotts. On Monday, he told them that he’d contact his father regarding the tremors and that the Order might have a solution. Bill had seemed rather happy about this and outwardly expressed his hope that they might be able to cure the constant shake that rattled Hermione’s body. He’d also told them that his father asked to hold a meeting with a select few members of the Order on Wednesday night. Bill didn’t know what it was regarding, but he indicated that his father had requested that they both attend. Hermione and Harry pretended the news was new and agreed to come to the cottage for the meeting at 7 pm sharp to meet with the Order. 

Though, they had, of course, already know the plan.

Arthur had written Hermione back early Monday morning, letting them know that the Order was available to meet on Wednesday night. He’d also indicated that their new legilimens resource had ample experience with the cruciatus curse and that he might be able to help her with the tremors. While neither one of them was eager to trust a stranger, they resolved to give the mystery man a shot if Arthur said it was safe. So far, the tremors had ceased to fade, and Hermione was already beginning to feel desperate to try whatever she could.

When Tuesday morning rolled around, and Hermione was looking much more energetic and starting to get antsy, Harry had agreed to train with her. Aside from the gentle quiver that constantly ran through her body, she was fully functional. She was still a bit sore, and her stamina had certainly decreased, but as with the werewolf injury, the faster she forced her body into a normal routine, the quicker she would heal. Both mentally and physically, Harry knew that getting her back to her strong physical self was just as important as getting rest and eating healthily. 

So, he tethered her left arm to her side at a ninety-degree bend, partially stunning it in place so that it wouldn’t get injured or swing around wildly while they trained. He made her promise not to overdo it, deferred their meeting with Bill until later in the afternoon, then set out in a slow jog around the perimeter of the cottage.

-x-x-

“Still doing okay?”

“Yes, Harry,” Hermione panted and shot him a look. 

He had asked her that three times since they set off on their jog, and they’d only lapped the cottage twice. While she appreciated his concern, it was beginning to grate on her nerves. For some reason, this injury seemed to get to him on a deeper level than even the werewolf wounds had, and even though he would never admit it to her, she couldn’t help but feel like he was deeply disturbed by what had happened at the Manor. He wasn’t coddling her, but he was monitoring her very closely. 

“You know I’m fine,” Hermione breathed. “You cast a diagnostic charm on me for fuck’s sake.”

Harry laughed and gave her a semi-apologetic look. “I’m sorry – I know. I promise I’ll stop asking.”

“Can you at least dispel the stupid thing – I feel like an idiot with it chasing along behind me.” She glanced over her shoulder at the diagnostic charm that was doing its best to keep up with their jog but was lagging several feet behind.

“No way.” Harry grinned at her. “It’s far too funny.”

She rolled her eyes and did the best that she could to ignore the charm that was chasing along behind them. It was embarrassing to have her medical stats floating on display. The charm was like an annoying younger sibling that desperately wanted to join in but couldn’t keep up – or like a coach jogging along behind her and shouting out any imperfection in her health through vibrant displays of colour. She would tolerate it only because she knew if she dispelled it on her own, Harry would force her back to the tent to rest.

Yet as much as she hated it, she knew he wasn’t wrong. She needed to get back to a normal routine, but she needed to do it carefully. She sighed as they rounded into their third lap.

“Uggh – running with my arm like this sucks!” She groaned loudly.

Hermione’s outward distaste and sarcasm regarding her arm had been increasing over the last few days regardless of the minor improvements that she’d seen in its functionality. She could twitch her fingers and move it a few inches, but she absolutely hated the thing. She knew her detached, and perverse commentary on her arm was a coping mechanism, and she knew that Harry knew that too. She often glared at it like it was a foreign object, and Harry had even caught her talking to it in frustration – she’d been criticizing it for not moving and threatening it to do as she asked. Right now, though, her agitation rested solely on the fact that the stiff limb was fixed to her side and ruining the natural flow of her body as she ran.

“Though I suppose this is better than it just flapping around like a dead flobberworm,” she spat with annoyance as she glared at her arm and cursed its existence.

“We should ask Nasir, this new legilimens guy, if he knows anything about deep tissue muscle damage from a cursed blade,” Harry said. She could feel his eyes on her. He was watching her reaction and glancing back to her diagnostic bubble to check her heart rate.

“I thought that too.” Hermione nodded as they finally slowed to a stop in front of the tent after their third lap. 

Her body was already aching, and she had only run a fraction of the distance she normally would be able to. She knew that it would take time to fully recover, but understanding that did little to quell her annoyance with her own body. She hated this feeling. She hated that she was feeling it again. Once after the werewolf was enough and she felt itchy and anxious to get back to what she knew she was capable of.

“Did Arthur tell you anything else about him?”

“No,” Hermione muttered. She could remember waking up on Monday and reading the reply then calling out to Harry over the journal asking if he might know who Nasir was. He hadn’t, and Arthur had not told them anything else. She silently summoned her purse from the tent and pulled out a snack, tossing one to Harry.

“Well, I guess we find out tomorrow, huh?” Harry said with a frown as he took a seat on the sand in front of the tent. “It’s strange – Nasir showing up out of nowhere. I won’t lie – I don’t like it. We should talk to Arthur privately before we let Nasir do anything. I want to make sure that we can trust him.”

“I know,” Hermione scowled as she took a seat next to Harry. “I wonder where he came from? For him to just show up like this and be as skilled as Arthur has eluded to… what could he have been doing before?”

“No idea,” Harry sighed. “He must be extremely talented if he has Shacklebolt beat on the dark arts front.”

“No kidding,” Hermione said with a smirk as she ate her snack in vicious bites. Her appetite had come roaring back to life on the second day at Shell Cottage, and Harry had been far too pleased to stuff her with food. She paused and frowned again before giving Harry a thoughtful look. “Harry – is it awful that I almost don’t care where he came from or who he is as long as he knows how to heal tremors and deep tissue damage? I mean – I do care, of course I do on some level. We need to make sure that we can trust him, but – I guess I’ll just be a little more welcoming to him if he proves useful.”

“It’s not awful at all.” Harry shook his head and gave her a firm look. “I get the impression from Arthur’s notes that perhaps the man has a… questionable past. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t said anything else about him. Maybe Nasir’s not entirely aboveboard – but neither are we. It doesn’t matter, though. What matters is whether or not we can trust him and whether or not he can help.”

Hermione smiled at Harry softly and then dropped her eyes back to the sand as she chewed slowly. She felt the same way Harry did. Aside from general curiosity, she truly didn’t care who Nasir was or what he had done. She just wanted to know that he wouldn’t screw them over or be a danger to their mission or the werewolf den infiltration efforts. She wanted to make sure that Arthur and Shacklebolt were safe working with him, and she wanted to be healed. None of the other details mattered to her anymore. They would have a long time ago – but she was a different person back then.

“It’s going to be weird, isn’t it? Being in a room with so many people. I’m going to have to tether my hands to my pants, so I don’t accidentally dice one of them,” he sighed, then pushed his long hair back from his face. “Fuck, this is getting annoying. No matter how many times I wash it, it still feels like it’s laced with crap – can you cut this off after we practice? It’s putting my nerves on edge.”

Hermione grinned at him as she carefully lowered herself onto her back and began her modified workout. His point about being surrounded by Order members in a meeting was valid and one she would need to think more on later. She wasn’t really sure how she would handle it, and they didn’t know who all would be coming.

“I was wondering how long you would go before you lost your patience with it,” she smiled at him as she watched him tie his hair into a quick knot in frustration before continuing his set.

“It wasn’t so bad when it was colder,” Harry grunted as he pumped through his pushups. “But now that it’s getting warmer – it’s got to go.”

“You know my hand is shaky,” Hermione panted. “Do you want to ask Luna to do it?”

“No – I don’t care what it looks like, just lop it off.”

“Alright – after practice, I’ll grab the scissors. I don’t trust my hand with a diffindo by your face yet.”

“Okay – oh, and since we are going up to the cottage tomorrow anyways, we can talk to Mr. Ollivander – Bill said he’s finally awake.”

“Yeah,” Hermione grunted, her mind circling back to the Deathly Hallows and the Elder Wand. 

She and Harry had both agreed they needed to discuss its existence with the old man, and they had been patiently waiting for him to wake up. They hadn’t spent a lot of time talking about what Xenophilius had told them yet, given what had happened, but in the next few days, now that she was functional again, she knew that they would get back to task and examine the Hallows along with everything else.

After a much shorter version of their usual workout, they completed target practice for an hour before they drew two circles in the sand and began their stationary duelling. It was a good opportunity to get familiar with Wormtail’s wand, and Harry practiced with Draco’s. It was approaching lunchtime when Hermione thought she noticed a face in the cottage window, but she wasn’t able to get a good look at the person without putting herself at risk of getting hit. So she ignored it and concentrated on the duel. She barely managed over an hour of practice before she needed to stop. They dropped onto the cool sand and drank water from the bottle Hermione had as she tugged at the collar of her loose-fitting sweater. Sweat poured down her back, and her muscles were exhausted from the exercise.

“This should not be that hard,” Hermione groaned.

“You’re doing great.”

“No, I’m doing pathetic – I’m missing my target at least half the time because of this stupid fucking tremor!” She held her hand out before him, and it vibrated in the air. She groaned loudly and flopped onto her back, her left hand jutting into the air awkwardly as it was still fastened to her side. “And then this stupid thing!”

She sat back up angrily and gestured at her left arm exasperation. The diagnostic charm, which was still loyally floating by her head, flashed a silent red light as her heart rate increased with rage.

“I look like one of those old barbie dolls! It’s completely useless – either hanging their dead or stuck in a permanent handshake – fuck! I swear to Merlin – if it doesn’t get better or if Nasir can’t fix it, I want it CUT OFF!” She was panting with fury and scowling angrily at her arm. “Harry, promise me – promise me that if it never gets better, you will cut it off. You know that wizard healers refuse to amputate unless the limb will cause you death – you know they will refuse.”

Harry stared at her, and his expression looked saddened. “It will heal, Hermione.”

She sighed heavily as she stared at him. “I’m saying if it doesn’t heal.”

“If it doesn’t heal – you want me to cut off your left arm?”

“Yes,” she said firmly, holding his gaze through narrowed eyes. “Because St. Mungo’s won’t do it. They’ll expect me to just live out my life with it hanging there.”

He sighed and dropped his head into his hand, his elbow resting on his knee. “Hermione, I–“

“Harry,” she cut him off and tightened her eyes.

He let out a deep heavy sigh. “Fine – but only if we are absolutely sure it cannot be healed or improved. You can’t grow it back once it’s gone, you know.”

“I know – thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for agreeing to dismember you,” Harry murmured into his hand before he tilted his head to look at her. His brow was creased, but his eyes looked soft. “I love you. Even with your dangly flobberworm arm.”

Hermione bit her lip, trying to stop the small smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I know. I love you too Harry.”

A slow smile spread over his lips as they sat there watching each other for a long quiet moment. “Will you cut my hair?”

“You don’t want to do a full duel?”

“No – I know your legs are dead. You were slouching towards the end of circle practice – we’ll duel tomorrow morning. Let’s spend the afternoon going through our notes and getting ready for tomorrow. We meet with Bill in a few hours anyway,” Harry said as he cancelled the diagnostic charm that was floating diligently above her head.

“Alright.” Hermione nodded.

Harry was right.

He knew her better than anyone, and despite her efforts to hide it, her legs were dead. She’d been struggling to keep up in the circle practice near the end, and of course, he had seen it. Anyone else wouldn’t have, but he was perfectly attuned to her body in every way – every way. 

That thought brought a small blush to her face as she summoned the scissors and a small stool from her open purse. Despite being alone in the tent again, nothing had happened between them. Things had been too devasting, too raw, and she’d been in bad shape.

Today was the first day that she’d thought about it, probably because today was the first day that actually felt normal. Mostly. Sure, she was horribly out of shape and hadn’t been able to do half of what she usually would because her body was still injured, but getting back to routine made the weight on her shoulders feel a bit less heavy. 

She scooted across the ground and placed the stool behind Harry, sitting on it with a small groan and looking at his hair.

“Harry, this will look really terrible if I cut it with one shaky hand. Are you sure you don’t want me to get Luna?”

“No, I want you to do it. If it turns out that bad, which I doubt, it will probably just grow back overnight anyways.”

“Alright,” Hermione smiled again and ran her only functioning hand through Harry’s hair. “I can’t believe how thick it is.”

He laughed and leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering shut as she carefully began snipping at his hair.

She started by cutting straight across it at the base of his neck. Chunks several inches long fell onto the sand around him until his hair was only as long as his shoulders. Then she carefully snipped it shorter in small pieces. Her hand trembled consistently as she worked, but she found the entire process calming. Maybe it was the fine concentration, or maybe it was the sound of the scissors or the steady crashing waves in the background; she wasn’t sure, but she felt her shoulders relax, and her hand’s vibration dulled to a low hum.

When she finally finished with the scissors, she summoned her mini-clippers from her purse. She’d bought them to shave a patch on Crookshanks when he’d gotten an infection in fourth year, but the second she’d pulled them out, he’d run away and hid, so she’d never used them on anything.

She gently pushed Harry’s head forward and had him hold the longer bits of hair out of the way, then she flicked on the clippers and cleaned up the hair low on his neck. Twice her hand twitched so bad the clippers skipped across his hair and cut some places shorter. She swore under her breath, but Harry never once moved an inch. He remained seated, still as a statue in front of her, until she brushed away the last few strands of hair and declared herself done.

“How does it look?” Harry asked. He had turned around on his knees to face her and was resting both hands on her thighs as he kneeled between them.

“A little funny,” she grinned, then laughed, sending the clippers back to her bag. Smiling this much felt weird; it made the muscles in her face hurt because they hadn’t been used so much in a long while.

Her eyes skimmed over his hair.

He actually looked pretty good. It had turned into some sort of long textured tapered french crop, but she hadn’t buzzed the hair down to the skin – except in the two awkward spots where her hand had shaken so violently the clippers skipped. Though frankly, the thin straight lines just made him look more dangerous. Overall it was less wild, but somehow the short hair made him seem even more serious and threatening than before. It complimented his good bone structure better than the crazed mop that had been sitting there only moments ago. She ran her shaking hand through it as she looked at his face and smiled at the way he leaned into her touch.

“Honestly – it’s not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I like it,” she said, dropping her hand back down to rest on top of his. “You look sort of rugged and battle-worn. Serious. And maybe even a little viking-esque.”

“I am rugged and battle-worn,” he smirked up at her and ran his right hand through his hair before he returned it to her thigh and gave a gentle squeeze. “You left it a bit longer on the top, huh?”

“Yeah – just a bit,” she murmured, and she found her heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. Cutting his hair had been so calming, so domestic, and so normal. It felt good in a way that she couldn’t describe, and him insisting that she do it, despite her tremors, made her soul ache. Harry was everything to her – she wanted him. Always. In every meaning of the word and knowing that he accepted and loved her tremors and all meant more to her than she would ever be able to express. “I thought it would give me something to grab onto.”

Harry grinned and leaned up to kiss her. His lips slid easily over hers, and Hermione felt a warmth in her chest as she breathed out against him. Everything in this moment felt perfect. His tongue slowly traced along her lips, and she shuddered as she opened her mouth to him. He was gripping her thigh securely beneath her hand, and he’d brought his opposite hand up to cup her face. As his thumb gently swept over her cheekbone, she slid her tongue over his and revelled in the feel. 

She’d missed this. 

His love was so encompassing, unconditional, and pure that it made all her anguish and scars fade away.

Maybe things will be okay. Maybe I can get by without this arm. Maybe we can still win this.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Hermione leaned back from Harry to see Ron standing twenty feet away, and behind him, Dean was running out of the cottage with Luna close on his heels.

Warnings:

This chapter contains: explicit language, face punches, and the final breaking of the Golden Trio.

******************************************

“I came out here to see if you guys are okay – and you’re fucking snogging?! You’re just snogging like everything is fine?! What the fuck?! How long have you two been fucking?”

Harry had turned to face the redhead the second he heard his voice just as Hermione had, and he felt the rage in his chest crack through its chains. The wards on the tent were only set to a twenty-foot radius to avoid them being set off constantly by Luna when she took her daily walks or by Fleur – anything more would have been an annoyance and was unnecessary since the entire cottage property was already warded. He had inspected them himself the day before and had added his own wards at the perimeter to ensure their safety, so he hadn’t heard the redhead approach. He was regretting that decision now. He should have just dealt with Luna’s daily chiming.

Harry slowly stood to his feet as his eyes darted to the cottage, noting the figures that were speeding from it behind Ron. From the velocity at which Dean and Luna were running toward them, it seemed that Ron had slipped past them.

They really had been actively keeping him away from us, Harry thought as his eyes shifted back to Ron’s angry form. Nothing about him was threatening; everything about his offensive stance was wrong.

“Since about three months after you left, Ronald,” Hermione spat.

Her voice was still raspy – much lower and rougher than it used to be. Harry knew it was possible the change in tone may remain permanent, but he was surprised at how much it made her words sound even more dangerous and cutting. She sounded ruthless. She’d stood from her stool next to Harry and was glaring angrily at the boy.

“Not that it’s any of your fucking business,” she added.

“W-What?!” Ron stuttered. His red face faltered in confusion, but his wand remained pointed at Harry. Then his eyes widened in disbelief at her words. “You two – you’re – you actually fucked?! Harry, you piece of shit!”

To any wizard watching the exchange aside from Hermione, it would have appeared like magic had been forgotten between the two males. But Harry had blocked the two spells that Ron tried to throw at him wandlessly without moving a muscle or making a sound. The only reason why Harry hadn’t thrown anything back was because it would be Ron’s death sentence. And because he had indirectly promised Bill not to kill his younger brother so long as Bill kept him contained. Though right now, Harry was seriously wondering if he cared about that deal. It would be so easy and so satisfying to let his rage out and just kill the redhead – or obliviate everything from his stupid clueless mind.

Ron, unsure of the reason why his spells had been ineffective, angrily stormed the distance between them as Harry stepped forward – and then threw a punch at Harry’s face. Harry easily dodged it by side-stepping his fist, then grabbed Ron by the collar and shoved him back several feet.

“Don’t push it, Ron,” Harry whispered darkly, his eyes glinting as the rage that had been bottled up inside him from the last few days began to leak out in a steady stream. The energy on the beach had shifted, and despite the bright afternoon sunlight, it felt cold and dark. Harry could feel a similar energy pouring from Hermione as she stood behind him, overseeing the exchange.

Harry had known that this moment was coming. He had felt it brewing each day that passed since the Manor, but he had been hoping that it would be delayed longer. He was enjoying his quiet existence with Hermione, researching and occasional tea with Luna. He had even found his interactions with Bill to be surprisingly enjoyable. It had been peaceful. Calm. A nice way to try and integrate back into life with other people.

It had been exactly what they had needed to process what had happened, to repair the damage, to learn to be themselves again, and to move forward from the horrors of what had happened. His kiss with Hermione seconds ago had been bliss. That moment, their workout, and the exchange with his haircut had been their first solid step back toward normal since Ron showed up and nearly destroyed their lives. But now, that bubble, that false reality of a pleasant and quiet life, had been shattered by none other than the idiotic redhead that had been the one to bring the horrors upon them in the first place.